The Vicomtess de Chagny
by Phantress
Summary: Christine dies, leaving Raoul with a daughter and a promise to marry again. But what happens when the Phantom mistakes this new Vicomtess for his beautiful angel? Based on
1. Prologue

**Title:** The Vicomtess de Chagny

**Disclaimer:** _Phantom of the Opera _and its darling characters belong to Gaston Leroux, firstly. Secondly to Susan Kay and Andrew Lloyd Webber. All credit to them, of course. Because, if I did own this, I wouldn't be sitting here on this website, now would I?

**Rating:** PG

**Summary:** Christine dies, leaving Raoul with a daughter and a promise to marry again. But what happens when the Phantom mistakes this new Vicomtess for his beautiful angel? R/OC …not E/OC at all, I promise! Hints of the eternal E/C, of course.

**Author's Notes**: This is my first attempt at proper 'phic'. I do like to think my story is original and that some people might enjoy it. If you have any questions, please do ask and I'll always respond to my reviewers.

Please review, even if it's a flame. Flame away! I really don't care. But do leave your thoughts please.

Phantress 

Prologue 

"But how long?" I asked the physician as he closed the bedroom door.

The man ignored my question for a moment, walking over to his coat and hat thrown over a hall table, only fueling my anxiety. After what seemed hours, but could have only been a few seconds, he turned to me, giving a sigh of resignation.

"I am no fortune-teller, sir, but I would say Madame has," he raked his fingers through his sparse peppered hair, "I would say she has less than a month, perhaps less then two, at the most, Monsieur. How long is left up to her and how long she'll fight it. Tuberculosis is a fiend that few have the will to outrun."

I was angry. His phrasing of the biggest ordeal of my life made it seem like nothing more then a game.

"The housekeeper will see you to the door, thank you for your services," I murmured, hurriedly. Nodding to the maid, Jane, I went straight to Christine's bedside.

Going into that room was like changing the clock 12 hours. Day to night. The curtains were drawn tightly, only two gas lamps lit: one on the bedside, the other from the ceiling towards the corner. She was simply lying there, looking like a misplaced doll. Her blank eyes scanning the painted ceiling absently. I drew a chair from the corner and sat next to her, vaguely remind me of a vigil once held at my Father's bedside many years ago.

After a few moments she turned to me, and smiled in immediate recognition.

"Raoul," she struggled to sit up, quickly giving up and simply reached for my hand.

I quickly stood, letting the chair fall back on the richly carpeted floor, to assist her. Placing my hand at the small of her back, I straightened the satin pillow and then let her fall recline against it.

Such sudden movement was an obvious mistake. She was immediately overcome by a coughing fit that I'm sure rattled her very bones. Pulling down my shirt sleeve, I wiped away the blood that gathered around her lips. She grabbed at my arm and rest her head against it, closing her eyes.

"I'm so tired," she whispered.

"I know, Christine, I know," I sank down on the bed next to her, letting my head hit the edge of the bed's headboard.

"Did Dr. Meacham tell you? Did he tell you I only-" she cut herself off and began to cry.

"Yes, Christine," I said evenly, burying my face in her hair. Oh, the sound of her crying hurt me more then anything else ever could or ever would. I turned on the bed and faced her, pressing my forehead against hers. "That is why," I began, with the most sincere smile I could conjure, "we are going to make these last times together the most precious. You, Victoire and I."

Christine smiled at the thought. I laid back again and let my smile fall. Glancing down at her head, I shook my head in frustration. Nine years of marriage…Christine had never matured. It seemed she would die the little girl I had first met in Brittany.

She cleared her throat, and then looked about.

"Victoire? Where is she, Raoul? Will you fetch her please? I do believe we should start now."

I stood and nodded at her. Yes. My Christine has, is, and will be until the end, a simple child.

I walked into the nursery, and smiled at the sight of my daughter. She was sitting at a table, a shaky lead pencil in her hand, hanging on the every word of her governess.

"You must remember, Miss de Chagny, it is important to always go back and cross your T's. For your name is most certainly not Vicloire's, is it now?"

"No ma'am, Vicloire's is not correct," she whispered back to the stern Governess.

"But, I would love you, whether or not you were Vicloire's or Victoire," I walked over to her briskly and scooped her into my arms.

The governess walked over in one motion and picked up the pencil Victoire had dropped in her excitement. She also managed to shoot me a reproachful glare to me for the disturbance of her lesson.

"Mademoiselle Burnett, would you mind terribly if we cut Victoire's lesson short today?" Victoire squealed with delight and threw her arms around my neck.

"Your daughter, not mine, my Lord." She continued picking up the papers and books used from that morning's lesson. "Though, I expect, Miss de Chagny be prepared for a lesson tomorrow, and an additional one as well to make up for lost time."

With six-year old charm, Victoire began to fruitlessly protest.

"Yes, yes, yes," Adelaide Burnett shot back, mimicking Victoire's exasperated plea, "I bid you good-morning and until tomorrow, Sir," she said, turning to me with a changed tone.

I gave a curt bow, tossing a glance at Victoire who giggled at my formality and with could have been easily mistaken as a sly smile, Adelaide swept out of the room, her dress whispering down the stairs.

I looked down at my daughter, suddenly remembering the entire reason I had interrupted the lesson. I held my hand out to her, which she eagerly took and followed me down the hall to where her Mother, quite honestly, lay dying; consumption eating away at her lungs. It pained me to know that I led her to that room, where I fear, her childhood would be marred forever.


	2. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Phantom…I don't own Erik, or Raoul…I don't own _anything! -_runs away to wallow in despair-

**Misty Breyer**: You reviewed first…knew you would! Poor Raoul? –le gasp- You did! Yes, you did say it! Woooa! Yes, yes, haha! Yay for English nannies indeed. Thank you for your support!

**M'selle de Paris: **I hope this stays fairly plausible and the characters don't stray into the Mary-Sue department…I'm relaying on you to alert me the first moment it turns to the darkside!

**Moonstonecat**: What a sweet review to receive – thank you, and I hope you countinue reading! 3

**Phruity**: You know, I still can't believe your username. Well, you had started one in the past. So THERE! Ha. I win…? Sure. Reading it in order, haha! Yes, but you'll still be seeing this random skippy parts of doom! You were Adelaide's first and only fan, and will always receive full recognition because of it, silly! See, I'm really in cahoots with Erik to write a sappy Raoul story, so Erik can have an excuse to kick you to the torture chamber…dude, he's really predatory about the blankets, hog. Yay, thanks, Elisa! Your 'longest comment ever' made me happy!

**Catnipp: **Thank you so much, I take that is a very nice compliment – I hope I don't dissapoint!

I was seriously surprised to receive reviews…I know _nice _Raoul fics are "omgweird" but, I coulden't help myself. Anyhoo. Here's Chapter 2, I hope you all like it!

Don't forget to review!

We spent those last Autumn months constantly in each other's company. I watched as my wife faded faster and faster. All I could do was sit on the chair by her bedside, or sit next to her on a sofa in the sitting room. Watching Victoire dancing and singing, performing tableaux's of her own design was Christine's only distraction. If a coughing fit overtook her, Victoire would pause so her Mother was sure not to miss a moment of her entertainment.

"Continue, Victoire," I would say when I thought Christine was finished, "We're both watching." Christine would nod eagerly, and then after a minute lean her head against my shoulder and sigh heavily.

The three of us where constantly over-watched by the Governess. Adelaide had an excellent sense of…everything, quite honestly. She was the stereotypical British nanny in every aspect. When she saw that Christine was over-tired and needed to be left alone, she would clear her throat and walk towards Victoire.

"Come, Miss de Chagny, we must pick up where we left off in your studies."

Victoire would protest for but a moment, but then agree that Adelaide was correct. Victoire would run to us, her chocolate curls bouncing in her wake, and give us both a kiss on the cheek.

"Thank you Victoire," Christine would whisper hoarsely, "Now, go and study hard so you can be a refined French woman."

Once, Victoire threw her head back and said proudly, "I shall be an English girl," she threw a glance at Adelaide, quite proud of herself. Adelaide would give her a stern eye, but a smile would always creep on her face.

Christine laughed, but her laughter was overtaken by a coughing fit that stained the white of her handkerchief. After she had composed herself, she said softly, "You can be whatever you'd like to be." She reached out to stroke one of Victoire's curls, identical to her own, but to my great surprise Victoire drew back, her eyes widening. I was puzzled for a moment, but then looked carefully at Christine's fingers and understood why. On the tips of her fingers, was a slight red residue that had rubbed of from her kerchief.

Realizing this long before I had, Adelaide already had Victoire steered towards the stairs, not allowing a backward glance.

When Victoire was out of sight, Christine completely collapsed in my arms.

"She wouldn't let me touch her," she howled, "My own daughter would not even let me touch her pretty hair. She _knows _I'm dying and she won't even let me touch her."

I found myself somewhat irritated by her self-centered take on the situation.

"She is afraid, darling, can you not see? She is six years-old…did you understand anything this serious at six years-old? No, of course not! Neither did I. She loves you, Christine, if that is your doubt."

There was no use telling Christine this…she was quite lost in her own misery.

After a moment, Christine moaned, "Raoul, she's not even going to remember me."

"No, not completely" I allowed, "But she will always know that you were her Mother and that you loved her more then anything in the world."

"Thank you," she whispered, allowing me to envelop her in my arms. "I only wish we were back in France."

That statement struck me and I pulled her out of my arms and held her straight.

"Why have you not spoke of this before? You never said a word about being unhappy in England."

"I wasn't always," she said childishly, "only sometimes."

I frowned at her answer and pressed further. "If you had said something sooner, it would have saved us time, money and energy to go back and forth from the estate in Blois to here."

"It was too difficult to stay in France," she exclaimed suddenly, immediately her shoulders began to shake with a hacking cough. It did not, however, rock her sudden temper. I believe it actually infuriated her further, she was suddenly frustrated by her own weakness and inability to express her thoughts at once. "You have never understood the pain that France brings me, you will never know the depth of my sorrow and regret. You just don't know, Raoul," she snapped.

"Christine, the only reason we are here now is one you understand quite well."

Her eyes flushed with tears and she turned away from me, lying on the sofa in a heap….as if turning away from my face would detract from the truth in my words.

"Perhaps I don't understand," I said stiffly, standing up and leaving her alone in the sitting room. I paused at the doorway and turned, "But I shall leave you with those thoughts and regrets, I will return later to see if you would like to be moved upstairs for the afternoon, Madame." With that, I turned on my heel and left her alone.

I stormed up to my office and furiously sat down on the floor, hitting my fist to the desk, knocking off a Venetian glass-blown figure.

I had tried to ignore it, all of these years. Why did I not guess that her thoughts would never fully abandon her memories of France? Of Paris? Her life on the stage. Her life with…

"Sir," I jumped in my seat, and quickly looked up. Adelaide Bennett was starring back at me, in her hands, three pieces of the glass figure. How long she had been standing there…I had no idea. "Mr. de Chagny, pardon me, but I heard a crash, so I came to investigate." She paused for a moment, whether she was expecting a scolding from a master, or a thank you from a friend I was unsure. All I could do was look blankly at her oval face. "But," she began loudly, to break the awkward silence, "I see now that you are quite alright, so I will leave you undisturbed and return to-"

"Thank you," I said quickly, regaining my ability to speak, "it was very kind of you to come and make sure everything was all right."

She nodded curtly, and walked to the door, pausing only to turn around and sweep a graceful curtsy and walk out; her heels clicking on the marble floor in their own rhythm.

After an hour or two, I had sufficiently calmed myself, and went downstairs to return Christine to our bedroom. I opened the doors without a thought to noise, figuring I would find her reading, singing softly to herself, or gazing out the large arch windows at the busy London streets, as she often did. Instead, I saw that she was the little misplaced doll once more, asleep on the white sofa, with the blue throw blanket pulled tightly around her thin, withering frame.

I touched her shoulders gently, and her blood-shot grey eyes fluttered open.

"Oh, Raoul," she began, a quiver in her voice quite audible, with matching forming tears, "I'm so sorry I became angry, I didn't mean…"

I placed a finger to her lips, and silently scooped up the Christine doll in my arms, and carried her up the stairs. It was a very familiar position to Christine, and she put her arms around my neck and rested her head on my shoulder.

I placed her on the bed and began to walk out.

"Don't leave me, Raoul, please," she begged.

"What would you like me to do, Christine," I asked, softly.

Her eyes flicked back and forth, scanning for her a time-consuming answer.

"Find Victoire, I'll talk to her and tell her that-"

"Leave it Christine," I cautioned, "she'll forget by tomorrow. She loves you, Christine, I can not reiterate this enough."

She nodded and fell back on the pillows, overcome by the exhaustion that was now caused just by breathing too hard.

I had been avoiding this conversation for too long. Resigned, I began to pull a chair up to the bed, but she instead held her arms. Out of habit, I picked her up and brought her over to the large armchair by the closed window, sitting her in my lap, letting her legs dangle over the arm, as I would Victoire.

"May I open the window…just a bit?"

She nodded, shutting her eyes tightly, and slapping a hand to her face.

I pulled back the drape so just a bit of afternoon light shone through.

"Is there something you wanted to discuss?"

I frowned at her face, or, what I could see of it.

"I can't talk to you like this, Christine," I went to pull her hand away.

"It's to bright," she insisted.

Aggravated, I pulled at the drape and after a moment, she let her hand fall to her side again.

"Thank you, Raoul," she said pitifully, "I could hardly stand it downstairs."

I studied her face for a moment. It was a pasty white, and gaunt, her eyes standing out even more then they used to, the brown was a severe contrast to the near translucent complexion. I could only see pieces of the girl I had once knew laughing on the sea shore, tugging at her scarf in an attempt to keep it from being lost in the wind.

"I must discuss with you the future of Victoire," I said quite frankly. "It is not wise to keep her away from a matronly figure, so, I have arranged to send her to my sister in Bordeaux at the turn of the year." I paused for a moment, taking in the full horror of her expression, "Christine, you know I can not take care of her without you-"

"But…but you have Mademoiselle Burnett, you have Jane, you have the cooks, you have any woman in our Parish to advise you on any aspect of-"

She sat up, I quickly put a hand just below her throat to get her to lie still again.

I shook my head, solemnly. "You know I can not do it, it would be unfair to our daughter."

A fit overcame her and I did my best to keep her from jolting too violently without hurting her more.

"Calm yourself, Christine!"

She pressed her hand over her mouth and put her face into my chest. After she regained her breath she looked up at me, her eyes honest and loving.

"There is nothing crueler then taking a daughter away from her Father before she is ready."

This statement struck me more then I knew she had intended. I thought of Father Daae in Brittany, and how content Christine was to only sit and listen to his music, or how excited she was to dance about the small home in rhythm with her Father's old Dutch folksongs. I then thought of the similar Victoire dancing before us in the sitting room, content only to be in front of her Mother and Father, to have all eyes on her. I thought bitterly of the repercussions of Christine's insecurities after the death of her Father. How vulnerable she was, and how easily influenced and taken advantage of.

I looked down at my wife's eyes again and saw the same little girl. Unchanged.

"What would you have me do, Christine?"

Christine smiled, relieved, and proud of her small victory. "I want you to never let her alone, never loose her, and hold her, like this," she nodded downwards to my hand I had wrapped protectively around her back, "hold her, at every opportunity and never let her forget," her voice cracked, but she continued, "how much you love her."

She closed her eyes, and in her own darkness I knew she was seeing her Father holding her by the firelight. In her ear he whispered stories about a little girl, named Lotte, and how an angel always guided her. An angel of music. Through his stories, Gustav Daae created a world in which Christine had no fears, trusted everything, and knew she was adored. Though why she wished the exact same for her daughter I could not understand.

Words would not suffice. There was nothing I could do but hold Christine so she would always know that there was nothing to fear and that she was loved in every aspect.

The last days of November quickly slipped into December.

Dr. Meachem shook his head, looking down at the still Christine.

"It's been frighteningly cold as of late," he said absently. I could hardly stand the British and their tendency to avoid the matter at hand.

"Yes, that is what happens in December," I said sharply, the sarcasm clear in my voice.

"She will hardly be able to stand the cold, I'm warning you. I advise you not to remove her from this room. Her lungs are glass, Viscount, they will break any day now."

I nodded curtly and opened the bedroom door for him. "Thank you, sir."

"I will see you soon, I'm sure." He paused to look again at his patient. "I will be seeing you soon, I fear…do not hesitate to call upon me at any hour."

"Thank you," I repeated, sincerely.

I turned to sit once more by Christine, studying her features. Memorizing her face.

"If there is anything you need, sir, please know that I am here."

I should not have even bothered to look away from my doll. Mademoiselle Burnett was standing, angled, behind me.

"I appreciate your services, Mlle. Burnett, but I fear you don't understand what you are volunteering yourself for." I smiled weakly in no specific direction.

"No," she insisted, "I do mean it, sir. My sister died of the consumption last year…I know what it is to watch it alone."

I furrowed my brow and looked up at her.

"Last year? I'm sorry, refresh my memory…how long have you been in our service?"

"Nearly two years, sir."

I felt a pang of guilt. I had never heard a word of her loss. "You never…mentioned it to Christine or I…?"

"You were on holiday in France at the time, my apologies, Sir, but-"

"No, don't apologies, Mlle. It is I who should, if I had known, I would have given you more time to…"

"When a person is gone, sir, there is nothing left to do but move on. Now," she began, changing the subject, "I suggest you rest, it is nearly nine o'clock. I will sit here if you'd like…Miss de Chagny is already in bed."

She offered her hand, and helped me out of the chair, and followed me to the door, and closed it softly as I walked down the hall to the guest bedroom, collapsing on the large four poster bed in sheer exhaustion.

I awoke one morning, two weeks later, and took a moment to gaze out over the top of London. I watched the fog roll back and forth between the dark structures of the city, forebodingly. The wind whistles through the cracks of the window, whispering all that I knew was true.

I watched Christine that entire day, refusing to eat or to leave for a moment, despite the steady suggestions from Miss Burnett. I reflected on my marriage while watching the rise and fall of my wife's chest. We had been married on a quick ceremony at my family's home in Blois. It was the most beautiful wedding imaginable, the only looming shadow being the absence of my brother, Philippe. I had feared my sisters and cousins would find a way to blame Christine for his death. Christine the opera singer, Christine the nobody Daae, as she was at first called behind closed doors. It did not take long for both of my sisters, Marie and Madeleine, to be won over by the charming Christine. I will never forget though, the morning following our honeymoon, a simple newspaper article.

Although that should have rested my worries, it only heightened my suspicions. Christine and I went to England and only returned to France for visits in the summer, and occasional holidays. I returned independently much more often of course, determined to maintain my position in the French military. Christine always seemed content to sit at home and wait patiently for my return. Our first year in England, was not, however, a bright one. I will always believe she was haunted by the three words printed in the Paris E'poque. I was terrified to leave Christine who would sit by herself often and hum softly.

He would always be there singing songs in her head.

After the birth of our daughter, it seemed those painful memories were tucked away in the back of her mind. Motherhood became her. She insisted on being informed and involved in every aspect of Victoire's life. It was the first time she ever questioned how something was prepared in the kitchen, how hot the water was when sterilizing something and what objects were left carelessly around the house and liable to fall into small hands. Her smile was never brighter then when Victoire laughed or kissed her. Christine loved to play the game of Mother and daughter, for no challenges ever really presented themselves but once.

There were bad days for Christine, of course. I discovered the triggers quickly, and learned to avoid them. A red rose, a looming shadow, any talk of abandonment or _endless longings_.

He would always be there singing songs in her head.

My wife was never wholly mine.

Christine now breathed only in short, sharp, breaths – each she had to gasp for. If she broke her rhythm for even a moment, I found myself exclaiming her name, and tightening my grip on her hand which re-awoke her fading body and sent her back into a pattern once more. Then, in one particular instance, no matter how loudly I shouted, or how tightly I pressed…Christine would not breathe again.

"But I shan't cry," Victoire murmured, trying to hide her face from Adelaide as they walked down the hall to Victoire's bedroom.

Adelaide stopped for a moment and turned her head to face Victoire. She threw a glance to her left and right, making sure she was unseen, though she did not look behind her. Adelaide never looked backwards. Believing to be unseen, she broke out of the constrains of formality, and knelt down on the hall's marble, taking Victoire's pudgy hands in her own.

"Sometimes, darling," I almost believed I heard her voice waver, "sometimes it is alright to weep." She pulled her fingers through Victoire's curls, a sign of affection that was once denied to Christine. "But do not weep for too long, Victoire, life will not stand still because of fallen tears."

Victoire nodded and began to cry.

"You know your Mother is in a better place now, don't you, dear?" Victoire's chin quivered but she nodded despite. "You know that now you have her to watch over her, how fortunate you are in fact to have both a Mother in heaven and an angel to yourself, no? Don't weep so. Come now, we'll saw a prayer for her soul, then."

Adelaide stood up and instead of the usual commanding hand on Victoire's shoulder, she instead dropped one of my daughter's hands, but held tightly to the other, and led her to the nursery, softly closing the door.

I lingered at the doorway, leaning my head against the cool wooden frame. If only Adelaide could erase my fears and troubles as easily as she swept Victoire's out of sight. How lucky for Victoire and how lucky Christine had been. To be naïve was to be protected, no matter how loud the tempest roared about you.


	3. Chapter 2

This was a one-shot I had written for a challenge over at livejournal. Though this has been posted here for a while now, it is in actuality to go with this story. I think a few of you have read it already, but, I'm going to stick it in here for organization's sake.

**M'selle de Paris: **Ah! You're too sweet – your reviews make me a happy Authoress! Hee!

**Stefynae: **Thank you so much for reviewing – I know, I'm probably the worst person on about reading something and never, never reviewing. I feel so bad about it now because now that I've started publishing my stuff I see how much I enjoy reviews and can't believe I deprived others! Anyways! I'm glad you like Adelaide, you know, I never thought about her being like Mme. Giry, but I'm totally seeing the resemblance now. Yay Raoul! I know not many people like him…but I really do. Minus the ponytail. I'm trying to keep everything cannon…and I'm glad you noted that. Thank you so much for your review!

**Lindaleriel: **Why, hello! I know you…this is 'britishness' from livejournal – you run that lovely Raoul C2…yay you! So, of course I don't find you weird in the least!

**White Time Ranger: **Heeey! Thank you so much for stopping by! What's WIP stand for? –is clueless as far as acronyms go- I hope I don't dissapoint. Oh, and I will certainly be going over to see your work! Love!

**Phruity: **I love how our spaztic-ness carries all the way over here? I mean, our journals, every possibly community, IM, phone…insanity!

And now, I present to you the one-shot I already have published with minor to no changes! Yay!

December 9th was a grey, rainy and humid day. The day we put my wife, my Christine, my little Lotte into the ground. The weather came not as a shock to anyone, as it fit to perfection a stereotypical winter day in England. Every account from my Mother's funeral never failed to note that it was a bleak day. A crack of lightening and the roll of thunder constantly interrupted the entire sermon of my Father's funeral. Quite morbid to say, but it would have been quite a break in tradition for the weather to be bright and cherry.

I stood upright according to my stature in the front pew of the church, with my daughter sitting next to me. She stood as straight as she could for being as sleepy as she was. Victoire's solemn grey eyes never left the closed coffin, but I knew she was taking in every word of the priest, but the true consequences of her Mother's death not quite sinking in yet. On her right side was her rigid Governess, her eyes staring at the back of the priest…but her true concentration was on my daughter, her keep.

I followed Victoire's gaze to the small, fine wood coffin in the center of the room. It was hard to fully comprehend the fact that this was truly the end. I say that Victoire does not fully see the consequences…but perhaps I too have yet to feel the full blow of this lost.

I had loved Christine…like no other love or devotion ever fully exercised by a person. She was my one concern and point of existence: to protect her, to love her unconditionally and to comfort her when she was frightened or upset. She had always been so frightened of the dark. I would be insane if I were to burst out and say, 'We can not bury her…she is afraid of the dark'…they would surely cart me away then! I could do nothing but shake my head at the irony of it all.

I would be a fool to say that Christine loved me with the same amount of passion. She was happy, of course. She had her every whim indulged, all she had to do was ask and I would do my best to please her. We had a beautiful daughter, whom she adored and in return was equally adored by Victoire. She took a delight in being the woman of the house, as if she was playing pretend again Brittany…hiring maids, hosting teas and an active member at our Parish in London. But she was never self-actualized. My wife never was, and never will be, I fear, (I never did believe that damned newspaper article) wholly mine. She rarely sang…but it was not as if I stole her music away. Had I stolen her from the music?

A slam of the church door, guided by the sharp wind, jerked me out of my reveries. I immediately brought my eyes back up to the priest…would this Mass _ever _end? It took a moment of will-power to control my need to turn to see who had dared to show up to this event so late. Finally, I couldn't stand it…I was infuriated…Christine had been _insulted_. I turned sharply, not making any effort at all to hide my frustration…as a matter of fact, I wanted them to feel _guilty _for their inconsiderate behavior.

There was no one there. No one at all.

I turned back quickly, embarrassed. Looking down at the marble floor, I thought for only a second and turned back quickly. My eyes widened at the sight…I could see a faint white stand out in the darkest corner of the church, unoccupied by mourners. Christine's whispers echoed in my mind _…"It's him…he's there, he's here" _

"He is dead." Perhaps the words, hardly audible to even myself, hanging in the air would better convince me?

I willed myself not to look back, not to torture myself further. I attempted to convince myself that I had really not seen anything at all…the truth? I needed not to turn and look that white color splashed into the darkness was quite visible, as if it was right in front of me at the very moment.

The funeral service was far from my mind now, all I could think of was that a man was watching from the shadows. I was convinced, it would have been fruitless for anyone to attempt to tell me otherwise. As I had often tried to talk Christine out of in the past.

_He is dead. He is gone. You are safe. You are safe with me. Close your eyes and rest in peace now. He is far from here and you are safe with me._

It had been so easy to say that…because I truly believed that. Why had I not considered an extra…yes, an extra person in attendance? No. Ridiculous. There was nothing there.

It makes a man wonder how often he had been previously watched…was this the way my wife had always walked through life? Aware of some presence, some ominous creature? Haunted by such human suffering that she had no control over…yet drove further into madness. Was I now sending a being into unspeakable self-inflicted nightmare? His love, his protégé, his _obsession_, gone without acknowledged love. Not adoration, not fascination…but love.

It was as if my ears had turned off all interfering sound around me…the voice of the priest, the quite, stifled sobs of Christine's friends… All I could hear was the rain pelting the stained glass windows and the eerie sighs of the church, the whispers of the walls and the creaks of the floor. I could not turn back, I would not allow myself. My knuckles turned white, both of my hands clutched in a fist…ready to react…react to anything.

Adrenaline shot through me when Victoire touched my arm.

"It's over now, Papa. Shall we go, then?"

I looked at her, she was the mirror image of my darling, lost, little Lotte in Brittany. I touched her face with the back of my hand, and her little blue eyes began to over-flow with tears.

"Now, darling," I began softly, cautiously. "I don't know what to say…"

"Come, Miss de Chagny," came the firm voice of the governess, Mademoiselle, "Your aunts are waiting for you now, come. You mustn't keep them waiting. It is quite rude to leave people waiting."

I gave Victoire a smile of support, and nodded my head as an extra command to follow. She smiled back weakly, dragging her hands across her face, smearing her fallen tears, and walked obediently to Mlle. Burnett.

"I'll be along shortly Mademoiselle, if you will please excuse me."

Mlle. Burnett nodded in consent, gave a shallow curtsy and rose slowly, still eyeing me as if trying to see my hidden intentions or secrets.

I watched all the attendants file into the Northex of the church, they stood and socialized quietly…. waiting for the rain to relent just a bit so we could continue with the burial without catching death ourselves. Sure that no one was watching, I nearly tripped over myself in haste to the darkest corner, near the church's small chapel.

Only a few feet away, the white did not fade nor draw back. I paused for a moment, glaring. Was I insane to suddenly feel threatened by an unknown? I approached with an unafraid demeanor, but was honestly dreading the discovery either way it could possibly end.

"Papa, it's stopped now, they have the carriage out."

"Victoire, come here. Now!"

She looked at me curiously and walked slowly to me before stopping and looking up at the dark corner…

To my horror, she smiled slightly.

"We should tell Monsignor that the alter-boys have forgotten to light a candle here," Victoria murmured.

I froze completely and then walked over to her, sure to get her exact perspective.

A thick, white tapestry candle hung from low candelabra.

"Oh, yes, we should…or…or, Victoire," she looked up at me, her eyes curious. "Victoire, do you think it should be lit…truly? If it was unlit and ignored, should you bother to go to an unnecessary hassle to get it lit when it was obviously never cared for before."

Victoire furrowed her brow, in the genuine confusion of a daughter confused by her Father's ramblings about a candle. If only she knew I was speaking of so much more then a candle. All symbolism was lost on her.

"Perhaps," she said thoughtfully, "we _should _leave it unlit, as you said, if it was _meant _to remain so."

"Yes, Victoire, we will leave it then."

I took her small hand and walked through the doors of the main church and into the Northex, leaving the white candle in the dark.


	4. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **Don't own _Phantom_. ….yea, let's just point that out and make me feel sad over, and over and over and over again, etc.

**Stefynae: **Oh, my gosh! The creator of icherisherik….I'm not worthy! You're a genius, btw. Thank you so much for reading this…and noting my inconsistencies. Ah! I'll probably have to go through this entire thing someday and fix all of those little things and edit it down…thank you so much for pointing that out to me!

**White Time Ranger:** Yea, I figured you had already read this. It was a contest entry for potocontest over at LJ. And thank you for explaining that abbreviation for me…I feel so dense as far as language goes….I only recently found out what AU was. Sad, no?

**Ryio16:** Aww! Don't cry! You're so sweet! I hope you enjoy this next chapter – it shoulden't be sad!

**Phruity: **You totally own Erik!candle. Like woa. People are…uh…jealous! You know you're falling in love with Raoul. You'll just have to deal.

**VictorianDream:** I absolutely adored your review. Thank you so much for both your kind words and constructive thoughts. I realize the beginning is fairly slow, and I hope it picks up, as you said, as I progress. Thank you so much!

My reviews make me a very happy Authoress, so please! Keep it up! Now, I present to you…chapter 3! 3

XXXXX

The holidays passed our home nonchalantly. If it had not been for Victoire I would not have even noticed the coming and going of Christmas. For her sake, and for her sake alone, we had a quiet, intimate, celebration.

I became more engrossed with the small business I had began in London when we had first come. Giving Mlle. Burnett the run of the house in all but title. She knew of all the comings and goings of the staff, and had Victoire on a vigorous schedule. I only had to ask her to know what was going on from that afternoon until the next three to four weeks.

I thought continuously of the promise I had made to Christine. But kept thinking more so of my duties as a Father. To provide the best life I could for my child…and to live locked up in a town home in London to a little girl should have be a crime. I could not send her to my sister's, I had promised Christine that. Yet, I could not keep her in London – she would surely suffocate. I also feared she was going to suffer from lack of a Mother _and _a constant Father. Not one who fled to the sanctity of finances and industry as I so often did. What is a man to do when he can not handle what is right in his home but seek out mental distractions?

The Governess found me one afternoon, sitting quietly in the library.

"Sir?"

I jumped slightly, not expecting the disturbance.

"I hope I'm not intruding, I was simply coming to find a book to-"

"No need to explain, Mademoiselle, you are practically the Mistress of this house now"

She frowned at my insinuation. "Once more, sir, I'm very sorry to intrude." She began to walk away, and I waited for her to turn around and curtsy as she always had. It was never something I had required, simply something she had done since the first day. To my surprise, she did not turn back.

"Adelaide," I called back, "come here, please. I'd like to ask you something."

The expression on her face when she turned around was priceless.

"_Excuse me?_"

"My apologies," I said, a smile creeping on to my face. "_Mademoiselle Burnett_, I need to ask you something."

Her face relented slightly, her eyebrow still arched. "Yes?"

I stood, rounding her slightly, as if I was trying to challenge her to a dual. "Please, sit."

She sat down cautiously, her eyes never leaving my face.

"How is Victoire? I don't mean simply in her studies…but, her person?"

She stared at me for a moment, as if it was the most ridiculous question she ever heard but she was trying not to tell me. "She lost her Mother almost six months ago, sir, I hardly expect her to be the girl she was. Her studies go on well, she is a determined little thing."

I smiled at the last statement and looked away, surprisingly intimidated by her icy glare. Yet, something in that face…

"How do you think she would react to a Stepmother?"

I watched Adelaide struggle to keep her face as expressionless as possible – though she was clearly surprised by the question.

"If it was a woman she had an opportunity to get to know before she was forced into having a foreign step-Mother, then, yes, I can even think of how _beneficial _it would be for her."

I walked over to the fireplace, leaning my elbow on the mantle and studying the ornate clock. I had promised Christine to do my best to take care of Victoire – I had never promised not to remarry. And if that _was _the best for Victoire…and perhaps even for myself? Less then we'd like to admit, men need a wife to keep them sane.

I turned and looked at Adelaide again. She had that look on her face that told me she was trying to analyze my every move – attempting to understand what I was contemplating.

"Are you promised to anyone, Mademoiselle Burnett? In marriage I mean."

She let her façade down and her narrow mouth formed a surprised O. She stood up quickly and put both hands on her hips.

"You sir! – have been reading far too many novels, and I suggest you move on from Charlotte Bronte…I never did agree with _Jane Eyre_'s views on Religion anyhow," she laughed shortly and then added in such a demeaning tone, "perhaps an Austen, then?"

She turned to walk away, but I quickly grabbed her wrist and turned her to face me.

"Mademoiselle Burnett…Adelaide, please," I needed to express my thoughts to her somehow. They were so complex, however, I did not even know where to begin. "You know a man can not raise a child on his own…and you would be happy with me, I swear it. You'll need not work if you chose not to, of course, and I thought it was a bit apparent that I am fond of you…" I trailed off, not even knowing how to continue.

For the first time I had silenced her quick tongue. I could almost see the mechanics of her mind going over every possibility, every aspect of her choices and the outcome.

"To do it properly, sir, you are to ask my Father first. But seeing as that is quite impossible, you've gone so far as to skip the second formality. Are you not going to kneel?"

I smiled, for I had won. I knelt down, sliding my hand down from my grasp on her wrist, so now I held her by the hand.

"Adelaide Burnett, it would please me greatly to have you by my side as a wife and friend. Do you consent?"

She raised her head for a moment, and let her eyes fall into mine.

"Yes, Raoul de Chagny. It would be my pleasure."

XXXXX

I had been frightened beyond expression through words when the Master first brought up the discussion of a second wife. I had heard the maids whispering about it since the death of the Mistress…everyone thought he would ask me. Part of me always wished he would, and the other half dreaded it. Yet, I never _fully _believed he would really succumb to asking me – a lowly Governess- to be his wife. From my view point, it read like a novel. Though, I knew in my story there was no lunatic woman in the attic.

His proposal was so sudden, I had expected it to come perhaps even two years after his wife's death: not six months! What was I supposed to say? 'No?' Wouldn't that have been ridiculous? _No, sir, I do not wish to be married to a kind, affluent, man…I'd much prefer being governess to spoiled children for the rest of my life…why do you ask?_ I would have had to have been a fool to say that.

I paced my bedroom in the de Chagny mansion. I was lodged in the maid's quarters, to the right of the servant stairs by the kitchen. When Raoul had proposed, I thought only of duty and what my family would think. Now, standing in my bedroom, I thought of what it all actually meant now.

I am to be a wife of a Vicomte. I shall be a Vicomtess. _My God_… it was so surreal. It's every little girl's fantasy to marry a man like him. I was no exception as a child. What young lady does not want to be wed to a man as kind and dear…as protective and adoring?

I did not press any aspects of it. I planned on staying silent and indifferent, letting him plan as he pleased. I found myself thinking back to how he had been with his first wife; always whispering sweet nothings, embracing and kissing…as if I did not desire that and more. But I had to remember my place. I am the replacement. I am the wife because he needs a wife, not because he loves me. It was the endless cycle I had watched throughout my life in London. It is understood to all women who fit the role. You are to love him, fill in the role of Mistress of the house and a mother to his children, perhaps even provide more at his wish…and never question his intentions. Everything from now on will be "Yes, husband" and "As you say, dear"…and I knew exactly how to play the part. I had always been one that could learn only by watching.

I sat quietly copying what I wished the wedding invitation to read so we could send them to be professionally copied. I looked over at my husband-to-be periodically. He was engrossed in a letter he had received the previous evening from the head of his military division in Britain, oblivious to my stolen glances.

On the corner of the desk I was sitting at was the constantly growing guest list. It sat there silently, mocking me. My insides churned with fear even thinking about having to be starred at by hundreds of people for an entire ceremony. They would all be thinking the same thing in unison. _The second wife._ I snatched it quickly, unthinking, and scanned the names again, not realizing I had made quite a clatter in the process.

Raoul sighed and walked over to the desk, leaning on it slightly and tapping to get my attention.

"Adelaide, is this what you want?"

He gestured to the piles of papers and drawings concerning the wedding.

"Of course," I said simply, looking up and smiling gently.

"Is it?" He raised his eyebrow, "Is it really?"

I looked down, embarrassed he had seen through my quick attempt to deceive him and shook my head.

"Well," he began, standing up and walking over to the window. Looking out the window, I had learned, was the best way he thought things through. "I've been thinking…it's not quite what I want either. I was thinking, more of a simple ceremony. At the city centre, perhaps?"

A civil union!

A proper woman should only speak out on certain, important matters. I chose to fight a battle here.

"I would rather the marriage be blessed by a priest," he was still looking away, and I was quickly afraid again. "But, I don't mind either way…I mean, a service at the City Hall sounds delightful, I-"

"No, you're correct," he said lightly, walking back to the desk. "You deserve to be wed by a priest, if not in front of our friends and families."

I blushed and kept my eyes downcast. Submissive.

After a moment he walked back to where he had left the letter sitting on the second desk.

"Is everything alright," I asked, genuinely concerned.

"Trouble in Africa," he muttered, "clearing the colonies' borders. They want me to over-see training in Corse….new recruits."

I stood quickly and was at his side.

"When?"

"November."

Four months from now.

"And for how long?" I could not believe I had dared to ask.

"Most likely only for four or five months, and I'm sure I'll be able to take leave and return for a while. Although, I'd have to stay in France."

"Then," I took a breath and ventured further, "are Victoire and I to remain in London?"

He looked up, confused for a moment. Apparently, Raoul had not considered this part of it.

"If you'd like to, I suppose you could."

"But, you'd rather me…" I cut off, waiting for him to fill in what he wished.

"You could always stay with my sister in Blois. There is a guest house."

The knots that had loosened after the decision on a private ceremony began to rework themselves. My God…I had never met his family. Worse, his family had never met me!

"Yes, that would be ideal. We could lease the flat here. When would you like to leave for France?"

"By mid-October, I'd like to make sure you and my daughter are comfortably settled at the estate before I take leave."

I nodded in agreement and he smiled.

We paused for a moment, I could feel my face beginning to flush at his smile, and I turned awkwardly to go back to my seat.

"Oh!" Raoul said suddenly. "I have something for you."

I turned back and followed him behind his desk and watched as he pulled open the first drawer.

Raoul drew out a small blue-velvet box.

I stood, frozen for a moment. He chuckled and grabbed hold of my wrist from my side and put it in my hand.

Inside was the most beautiful thing I had only dreamed of adorning myself with. The engagement ring had one round diamond centre stone with six round, surrounding diamonds in a prong setting and round diamond accents in a pave setting. He slipped the diamond ring on the fourth finger of my left hand and, hesitantly, kissed my forehead.

I thanked him profusely and timidly walked back to the opposite desk. Only when my back was to him did I allow myself to smile grandly and stare at my new jewel.

XXXXX

Adelaide and I were wed, quietly, on the fifteenth of July in a small chapel outside of London. She looked more beautiful on that day then I had ever seen her before. She wore her hair down, a virgin, her hair fanned out of her shoulders. I had suggested to her she not wear stark white, silently fearing chilling déjà vu's of my marriage to Christine…such selfish reasoning…but she obliged as I knew she would. Adelaide's dress was a warm crème colour instead that flattered her very much.

When the end of the ceremony came, and I was told I was to 'kiss the bride' I realized in that moment that it would be the first time I would have kissed her intimately. I pushed back the veil, and kissed her, gently, cupping her chin with my hand. When I pulled away, I was shocked to see tears accenting her green eyes.

Victoire, our only attendant, squealed in delight and we walked out of the church a newly pieced family.

Back in London, we took Victoire to the newly hired governess, and Adelaide and I left for Italy. It was her first time out of England, and I was so pleased to see how excited she was, although she never said anything.

In Italy, like I had with Christine, but sadly, I thought, to a lesser degree…I spoiled her. I took my new little wife out to the finest of restaurants and bought her pricey little items that she would smile at me for and give off repeated words of thanks.

I had achieved what I had wanted to on the honeymoon, however. Adelaide told me, in finer detail, about her parents, and her childhood. She even told stories about her and her sisters, laughing throughout…which made me just as happy. I learned her little preferences, and got to know the deeper aspects of her personality.

Though, despite a month together…I feared I had still not broken her formality. How she managed to be both subservient and independent was beyond me.


	5. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer**: I know this is going to come as a surprise, but I _still _do not _own Phantom of the Opera_!

**VictorianDream:** I love your username, by the way. The Victorian era is just…yay. Thank you so much for pointing out my error, if you hadn't said anything I, not surprisingly, would not have noticed. I sadly read Susan Kay way back in October or November, so the details are fuzzy. Some mean person stole it from my local library so I was never able to recheck it out and read it more carefully. I do, however, have it on pre-order for when it reprints. So, yay Kay! Your words are so encouraging, please, don't stop!

**Phruity**: Yay OTP! I wrote an extra chapter tonight with you in mind…and, guess what! I don't think I'll show it to you until you publish it. That way, it will be a complete surprise. I know, gasp, right? I love that phrase. 'Raoul/Adelaide Marriage of Doom'. Just yay.

**Makeyourselfdou**: I've actually never read _Rebecca_, though, _Jane Eyre,_ is my favourite book in the history of ever. Thank you so much for reviewing!

**Misty Breyer**: You weren't neglecting me, fear not! Thank you for your compliments, since you're an Authoress I admire so much it truly means a lot!

Sorry, this is a bit short. I had an extremely long chapter for you originally, but last minute I decided to break it into two. So, keep in mind while reading, particularly at the end, there is a chapter that picks up right after this. I also jump point of views in here twice, I hope those times are clear enough to be recognized without actual noted establishment. I've been reading my 'stats' and see quite a few who have this story marked as their favourites, or on alert…which makes me a happy Authoress! Please, do review. Reviews make me very happy and helps me know what is liked and what is not. Ten reviews would absolutely shock, stun and thrill me… Simply: reviews make me post more often, darlings!

XXXXX

In Italy, and even back in London…I found myself comparing her to Christine. I hated myself for it, but I could not resist. Adelaide was the perfect wife in many aspects, ones husbands only wish their wives could be like…the dream wife they talk about over a glass of brandy at smoking parties. I knew I was the envy of my social circle. Adelaide had only my interests in mind, always asking what she could do for me, or how _I _was. I tried to be the good husband in return. I was kind to her and showed a great appreciation for her concern and care.

Christine, on the other hand, had been the perfect image of joy. She had always brightened my day no matter how dreary London had been. She would laugh and talk with me at dinner, and I had been a complete romantic back.

With Adelaide, I felt older. Solemn. Perhaps that was her intention. I could never know what she was _really _thinking. Unlike Christine, she was not one to simply pout, or giggle – anything to give me a hint. With Adelaide it was a like a serious game, I had to try to read every sign and make stabs in the darkness.

Less then two months after Italy, I directed the housemaids, who I had only been in league with two months previously, in packing the entire house. Raoul shipped over half of his…_our_ possessions to Blois ahead of us and left only a few things for us to take with us. We had decided to leave all the furniture, flat ware and dishes to the renters I had interviewed.

Soon after our return to Italy, I began to become severely prone to headaches. Anything and everything would trigger a near migraine, I spent my day in constant fear of somehow putting myself at risk for one. I had decided it must be due to stress I was putting myself under.

Our last few nights in London, I was sleepless with worry. Not only the normal concerns of moving a household – I had dealt with something similarly before. It was the pressure I was already beginning to feel, living with Raoul's relatives. Would they approve of the second wife?

"Adelaide," Raoul's groggy voice interrupted my train of thought on the last evening, "you must get some sleep."

I sat up, partly startled and partly embarrassed. I had most likely been shifting without a considerate thought to the bed's second occupant.

"I'm sorry," I murmured, flattening again and putting my hand to my temples, "I'll stop moving. What time is it?"

He didn't even have to glance at the wall clock, I felt my cheeks burning, knowing that he had already looked at it.

"It's after three. And, it's not the moving that's disturbing me, I'm afraid you're going to be exhausted tomorrow…and you've not been well lately. You have to stay strong, otherwise I will be too concerned to leave you."

"I'm sorry," I murmured again, honestly. I hated the thought of worrying him.

He easily pulled my small waist with his strong arm and slid me next to him. Pushing my hair back, he whispered in my ear, "Calm yourself, darling. Close your eyes and go to sleep."

I no longer flinched at his terms of endearments, and for the first time found his voice soothing and allowed myself to clear my head. My last thought before I succumbed to sleep was, immaturely…_he whispered sweet nothings in your ear…_

Adelaide was dreadfully ill again early the next morning, which only added to my concerns of going to Corse. She apologized for the delay she had caused, and looked for a reassurance that she had caused none, which I naturally gave her.

She stood in the threshold of our flat, looking every inch the woman of the house, counting the trunks and instructing the maids as to which carriage to place what in and was sure to caution which trunks they needed to be extra careful with.

We rode the short hour out of London in the same carriage together. Adelaide sat quietly, and I could tell she was still silently fighting nausea so I did not bother her by starting a conversation. She kept her hand delicately placed to her mouth and studied the landscape as we went by.

When we arrived in Bath, I let her again direct the dock workers. While I registered our boarding and confirmed our citizenship, making a mental note that I needed to register Adelaide as a dual citizen of France and England upon reaching the French capital. Victoire called out in excitement when our ship pulled up to the dock and quickly ran over to the boarding row. I followed her, laughing at her outburst, but turned around to walk with Adelaide who still seemed faint. She thanked me and gratefully held on to my arm as we boarded, keeping her eyes at her feet.

Once we boarded I finally decided to talk to Adelaide about what had been nagging at my mind. Victoire played quietly with a group of children she had found in the ship's café and I sat myself next to Adelaide who had herself placed to where she could watch her step-daughter from the perfect angle.

"We need to be sure to stop in Paris before going all the way to Blois. I've made a list of what we need to purchase before going to your sisters, and I-"

"Adelaide, do not worry about Paris. I already have a copy of your list and, oh! I have a list of my own," I added in, jokingly.

She smiled weakly, and turned her gaze back to Victoire.

"Are you worried about something?" I wanted to add in 'please answer me honestly,' but I knew that would insult her.

"No, of course not, husband," she answered back without even looking at me.

"Are you sure," I asked again, giving her second chance. "You seem preoccupied."

She nodded.

I paused, giving her a moment. Waiting for her conscience to come in.

"Well," she began, "I am worried, truthfully, about meeting your family."

Not the answer I had expected, but I was glad she had given me some answer besides a head motion.

"You have no reason to be worried…"

She continued, her tone rising. "They might not _approve _of the second wife-"

"Adelaide! You are not, and have never been only the-"

She had stopped listening to me, I had opened a floodgate.

"I don't even _speak _French that well…at all! I don't know how to live with them, how am I to spend my days? Do I have responsibilities?"

"Renee does not expect you to do anything, you are not a maid, you are her sister-in-law, I don't understand why you-"

"And," she added, her voice rising still yet, "I don't even know how long you will be gone. I'll be in a foreign country, unable to speak the language, and with a sister-in-law that will see me only as a…"

With that she rose and walked quickly out the open French doors on to the deck, grasping the railing for support.

I glanced over at Victoire, knowing she could not leave this room without passing through the same doors, I went to my wife.

I touched her shoulders gently, hoping she would turn around and fall into my embrace as Christine would have.

Instead she shrugged my hand away. "Oh, do leave. I don't want to be petted," she said, I knew more harshly then she had met.

It still frustrated me that she would not just say what she meant.

As she asked, I left her standing there, greeting the French shoreline alone. Reminding me, somehow, of how I had left Christine in the sitting room one afternoon.

We landed in Calais, and Adelaide was forced to find me in the café again so we could leave together. My pride would not let me go find her myself, and I knew it was hurting her own.

She looked for my hand again while walking down the steep stairs to the solid ground, but I did not offer it. Again, that pride would not let her ask for it. That having been only her second time on a ship, I watched as she stumbled slightly, adjusting to the still ground.

I walked ahead, I recognized my sister's carriages she had send forward in the distance. Victoire chatted on and on about her various adventures with the friends she had made on the short trip.

"Madame," began an alarmed man in French, who was assisting us with our trunks, "are you alright there?"

I turned around and saw Adelaide standing still, her face void of any colour. Immediately, I felt terrible for ignoring her and in three strides was at her side.

"You're fine, come on now," I said, trying to force optimism in my voice, as I would with a child after it had fallen to keep them from crying. I held her tightly by the forearm and guided her the rest of the way.

Right after I sat her down in the carriage, it was as if she had remembered what we were doing and tried to get up again to direct the trunks again. I used the authority of a husband and told her to remain seated. Meek again, she settled and a few minutes later we began our departure.


	6. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer**: Phantom of the Opera is most certainly not owned by moi!

Gasp! I love my darling three reviewers! Though, I'd also like to say hello to the six of you who have this story on alert. So, wave to **catnipp, Countess Alana, Lurks in Shadows, M'selle de Paris, Nadiil, **and **White Time Ranger**! …just so you don't all feel left out during author's notes.

Thank you to my darling three reviewers for the previous chapter.

**VictorianDream**: I don't have _all _the chapters pretyped. Probably up until 9-ish…and then other random pieces written. **Phruity **can attest to the fact that I am the most random writer…I'll write random segments and hope to efficiently tie them in later. (Like with this chapter!) I'm so glad you're enjoying this story and I hope you countinue to!

**Phruity**: Adelaide's only fan! YAY! I love how I totally "didn't do that to you" in the end and let you read it. Gaw. Thank you for attempting to encourage reviewers! Only three…sniffle Thank you for the support, dah-ling!

**Misty Breyer**: Christine vs. Adelaide, hm, hm, hm. Christine _is _quite high-maintenance isn't she? Haha, I love reading your conversations with Erik, they amuse me to no end!

Okay, about this chapter…it was one of the first things to this story I wrote, so, I apologies if it seems out of place, or, dare I say it OOC of my OC? (Most! Random! Statement! Ever!) Anyways, hope you enjoy it. Please, please, please, do review!

XXXXX

My young wife sat quietly with her head in her hands, looking down at her knees. I was alert.

"Do you have a headache, Adelaide?"

She shook her head and raised her tired eyes so they met mine, she went so far to lift her eyebrows as if the questioned surprised her. She lied.

"No, I'm just tired." She gave an overly large, quick smile. "Doesn't the lull of a carriage ever make you sleepy, Raoul?"

I shook my head and smiled at her attempt to change the subject.

She leaned her head against the wall of the carriage and closed her eyes. The rocking only made her head beat against the blue velvet.

"Come over here, Adelaide. That looks like it hurts."

She flicked her eyes open, grateful at my invitation, as she would have never asked openly. Immediately she stood up with her back hunched over and placed herself delicately next to me, leaving Victoire sitting quietly on the opposite side, looking out the window.

"I'm so sorry about earlier today…on the ship," she began, hurriedly, "I hadn't meant to snap, I was worried and I didn't mean to be so cold, and now I feel terrible about what I said, because I really do-"

I opened my mouth , about to tell her to stop but she continued.

"Then, on the way to the road…to the carriages…I'm sorry I slowed down the group, not the first time I've done that today, I don't know what has come over me, I-"

She had brought it up herself.

"Adelaide, I think you do know what has come over you."

She didn't answer, and I didn't make her.

"Now, you should sleep before we get to Blois."

"Paris," she corrected. "We need to stop in Paris."

I rolled my eyes and she smiled.

Adelaide first placed her head awkwardly on my shoulder, as Christine used to do so easily, not finding a comfortable position. She slid further away from me, with perfect calculation, and started to place her head lightly in my lap. She looked up quickly, as if to gain permission.

"Of course."

Adelaide finally allowed herself to rest comfortably.

"Better?"

"Much, thank you."

She brought a hand to her head and pressed her thumb and middle finger to each temple. _Oh, Adelaide. _I pushed her hand away and gently tapped my fingers over her forehead, just above her eyelids and her temples in an attempt to break the tension.

"Your head _does_ ache, Madame de Chagny," I said softly, enjoying the rare intimate moment with her.

She did not acknowledge the fact that she had attempted to hide her weakness, she only breathed in and out quietly, and tried to relax her ever-tense body. After a moment, she whispered quietly, "You bring out the best in me, Raoul."

I stopped my hands for a moment, taken aback by her sudden softness.

"You bring out the best in me," she repeated, "and I don't know what I'm going to do while you are away."

Her whispers tugged at my heart. My God, had I been completely blinded her stern face and cold demeanor? That one phrase showed me more to her then I could have perceived after nearly a year of marriage.

"I will miss you as well, Adelaide," was all I could say. It sounded too simple. Words seemed quite pointless.

After an hour or so, I thought she had fallen into a deep sleep as she would at home, in bed, next to me. I looked over at Victoire who had, since Adelaide's move, stretched out on the seat and fallen asleep. Apparently, it was I who was strange for not being put to sleep by the motion. I looked down at Adelaide's head in my lap. Her dark blond hair had nearly completely fallen out of the usual chiffon she always wore her hair in. I turned her face up to study, her shoulder blades prodded into my stomach.

I found dry tracks of silent tears on her abnormally pale face, and cleared them away with the tip of my index fingers. _She really would miss me._ Her eyes fluttered open and she sat up. I should have known she could never surrender completely in my arms.

"I want you to know, Adelaide…" I took a breath in. This was the first time I would ever say it directly.

She widened her eyes and nodded, pressing me forward.

"I want you to know…" I broke again.

"Please, Raoul, finish," she commanded calmly, her eyes piercing into mine.

"That I love you."

She too was not oblivious to the fact that that was the first time I had ever said it to her in a more meaningful tone. She smiled for a moment, and then it faded away to a thin line.

"You have not always loved me as you do now, have you?"

"No," I admitted, looking down at her hands that were fumbling over each other.

"But," she began slowly, "It's alright now."

I looked up at her face, for once she truly looked like the 20 year-old woman she was. Before she had always seemed much, much older then Christine ever had.

"It's alright because I know now that you do."

She bit her lip and for the first time since July I saw her eyes swim with tears.

"Adelaide, I don't know what to say, I know only that…"

"You don't have to say anything, dear." I smiled at her use of an affectionate word. "I said it is alright because it is." Her informal tone was trying to signal an end to the conversation…but I could not let it.

I risked a glance at her on my right…and to my surprise, I saw tears rolling down her cheeks.

"I didn't mean to upset you."

It was as if she just realized she was crying. She suddenly sat up straighter, which I hadn't though possible, and roughly brushed the tears from her face.

"You've never loved me as you say you do now because you were previously married…I know. You will never love me as you loved her – Raoul, I knew that from the moment you proposed."

I opened my mouth to protest, but she shot my a glance with her eyes, and I knew any attempt would be pointless.

"But you, Raoul," she looked down in her lap and batted at the beading on her skirt with her nail…it was so rare to see her uncomfortable, "You know, you will always be my first love. I just find it unfair," she raised her voice a bit, loosing control of herself only for a minute, "that I love you so and not have it returned."

She stopped speaking, and could see was she was planning on continuing.

I could not deny what she had said, for ever word was true. Unlike with Christine, I would felt guilty reassuring her of something that was not true. Christine had been a child, Adelaide was an adult who could not only face the truth but fully grasp and learn to accept it. I did not need to create a fictitious world to keep her content, for if I did, she would go mad.

The only thing I could do was press her cheek into my shoulder and quietly shush her.

"There now, be calm, I don't know what to do with you like this. It's so strange and different." She nodded, but I did not want to point this out to much for fear she would never open up like this to me again.

"There is something you should know, though, something I've never told anyone completely."

She turned and looked into my face.

"Something I must tell you before I go." She bit her lip at the reminder, but I continued, determined to finish. "I never felt that Christine loved me as you do. Yes, of course I loved her, but Christine was not ever," I looked out at the grey countryside of France rolling past us. I never did believe that news article. "And I fear will not ever be…completely mine."

"What do you mean," she sniffled, still regaining herself, "w-w-ill not ever?"

I sighed. There was no way I could continue keeping this from her.

"After Christine's Father died, she performed for the Parisian Opera House, the Opera Populaire-"

"Yes, I know," Adelaide said, curtly.

"If I am going to tell you this story, you must let me begin at the beginning and not interrupt or question me until the end."

Adelaide did not say a word.

"Always watching her, knowing everything about her…was a man. A poor man. Shunned by the world and unloved by his own Mother," this specific aspect of Erik's rejection from the world seemed to move Adelaide, as she took a sharp breath in and set her eyes downcast. "Christine became his obsession. He took advantage of her, and fooled her into giving him her very mind and soul. He was a violent man, truly, but never to her…and I only found myself fearing that but once. The only thing that he cared for or brought him to his knees was Christine. She both feared him and loved him…it was a connection I never understood. I took her away from him. Far away." I continued looking out the grey window, shocking myself at the pity in my voice. I suppose it was because I had never told this story outloud, only replayed the facts over and over in my mind. "Christine gave him her innocence, her very soul…and I don't believe she ever regained the latter. The Angel of Music was always a part of her, he never let her go."

I stopped, unable to go on. I looked over at Adelaide allowing her to speak again.

"And her innocence?"

I laughed softly. "Christine and the word innocence walked hand in hand."

She nodded, but I don't believe she could ever fully understand the meaning of that. "Thank you for telling me this," she said warmly, "It makes me feel…" Her voice faded.

"How does it make you feel?"

She blushed a little. "No. Nevermind."

I didn't press her, she had broken down self-created barriers today, and I wasn't going to make her go further then she wanted.

She laid on her side and put her head in my lap again. She smiled softly, and then closed her eyes.

"Does your head still pain you?"

"Oh, Raoul," she murmured, beginning to fall asleep again, "it always does."

After a few moments, she said quietly, "I think perhaps you should go to Paris alone later. Without me." I laughed as if it was a joke, but looked out the window again, thinking that perhaps she had a good suggestion.

My sister and her husband, Jean, were standing on the front stairs of the home when we rode down the winding path from the gate to the house. Adelaide was breathing loudly at the sight of the estate and began to shiver.

"Don't worry," I said for perhaps the fourth time that day, "they will love you."

She did not even listen to my words and instead continued to look quite helpless.

I took both her hands and turned her to face me.

"There is nothing you want to tell me now, before we step outside?"

She shook her head 'no' and tore her hands from my grasp and looked out at the house again.

"Victoire," she said, without shifting her gaze, "put on your cloak and wrap it tightly around you. It's freezing."

Victoire stood and handed Adelaide her own cloak that had been thrown on top of her's in the corner. She took it without saying anything and carelessly threw it about her shoulders. I leaned over and adjusted it properly, straightening it and tying it at the side of her neck.

We came to a stop and the footman opened the carriage door for us.


	7. Chapter 6

My apologies for the much delayed chapter – I went on holiday, hee!

**VictorianDream**: I hope the skipping about will sort of…end. It is not complete nonsense at all, I adore receiving your reviews! And Modest Mouse love.

**phantomphan85**: Ooh! A new review-er, welcome, welcome! Hugs! I hope you continue to enjoy it.

**ladykathrin**: I know there are not too many Raoul fans out there, but I amglad that you're liking this…I do try to have solid characters!

**Misty Breyer**: haha! Meet the in-laws. That reminds me of Meet the Fockers – heart that movie. I do love when you bring Erik into my reviews, tres, tres, tres amusing! And, yay! I'm glad you like the Adelaide-ness.

**Stefynae**: I know it's a little strange, (though, you saying Raoul was a 'pimp' amused me) that he remarried her…but, in all seriousness, in the Victorian era it was not uncommon for men to remarry just for the purpose of having a wife to raise his children or "take care of him" if you will. Coincidentally, after coming up with this plot bunny, I read "Cold Sassy Tree" which centers around that. Yeea, I hope you've read that otherwise I've said that for no apperant reason. I'm glad the strange-ness of it all hasn't stopped you from reading, thank you so much!

**Phruity**: I still laugh outloud when you call her homegirl, just fyi.

**vanillashades**: Aww! Thank you so much – I'm glad you like Adelaide! Keep reviewing! D

**Lindaleriel**: -le jaw drop- I am so flattered, it's not even funny. I loveth your c2…thank you, thank you, thank you! It's so good to hear that someone 'loves' something I've written, yay you!

**Ryio16**: Ahaha! Knock on wood, right? It takes me forever to update after you note how quickly I do…sorry about that! But, I'm here now, so do read on! 3

Chapter Six 

XXX

From the moment I had stepped out of the carriage, as I had feared, I was under complete scrutiny. Raoul's sister, Renee, was both short and round and with the same grey eyes as her brother. Yet, unlike Raoul's who gave me a feeling of security and care, Renee's felt like they were testing me.

The very interior of their home made me cringe. Everything about the décor was overdone in extravagance to the point of just being tawdry. It reminded me vaguely of a hotel lobby. Which, in my opinion, was the best way to describe Renee de Chagny-Mariuear. Tawdry.

All through supper I concentrated only on sitting up as straight as I could and eating, bearing all the rules of formality in mind. Renee spoke to Raoul in quick French, and with a glance to me, Raoul would answer back in just as quick English. I was grateful at his attempt to include me. Renee, whether purposely or not, had no intention of allowing me to be a part of it.

I sat quietly, drawing on every French lesson I had ever had, and all my practice with my husband. Then finally, turned to Renee's husband Jean and said in flawless French, "I am so grateful to be staying in such a lovely home while my husband is away and…oh! To be in such company! These months will simply fly by and I will be saddened when they are through." Triumphantly, but mostly arrogantly, I then glared at Renee and raised my glass, completing my French show with a toast to Raoul's safety and the glory of France.

First evening in France, I had won.

The two weeks Raoul had allotted to remain in Blois flew by too quickly. I was still embarrassed about the conversation that had passed between Raoul and I. _You bring out the best in me_. I scoffed at myself simply looking back. How I could've let those childish words slip between my lips was beyond me – strange how out of the thousands of words that pass in a day, those kept entering my thought. Was it true, or had I said it on a whim? What basis had that statement? None! I could not think of one instance where that applied. If I could have taken it back, I would have in a heartbeat.

What was even more humiliating about simply remembering that conversation was that I had been honest at certain points. I knew I would always love him more then he would love me. I had fallen in love with him long before he even knew my name without prompting. I was a hired governess in his household – I could not have let a young girl's infatuation risk my well-being. From the moment I was hired I relayed on the de Chagny roof over my head, the three meals a day, and the generous salary.

Now, after a marriage simply by good fortune, I found that I relayed on him for more then that. I completely berated myself the moment I realized I had become addicted to his presence, to the security he provided me with. I had become reliant on him. My worst fear and nightmare: I had become completely dependent on someone else.

The eve before Raoul's leave, I knew there were still things I needed to settle

Like a child, I dragged my feet in the mud, not looking forward to what I had to do inevitably.

I took every care getting dressed for Raoul's last dinner with us in Blois. I chose a blue coloured gown with a satin trim, I had always thought in the back of my mind trims flattered me best. I had a long neck and it had always been difficult to flatter that with anything but a unique dress line. I wore the coloured diamond earrings Raoul had bought me on our honeymoon, and wore my hair in a soft bun, so the fine hair would curl around my face. I starred at myself in the vanity mirror and realized how foolish I was being. Frustrated with myself, I tore out my earrings, throwing them in their box and pulled at my hair, pulling it back again in it's normal, cold, knot.

I stood, smoothing my dress out with my hands, breathing deeply and composing myself. I then walked out of the bedroom I would share with Raoul for the last night this evening and descended the stairs.

I sat in complete trepidation as I heard my husband ascend the stairs and turn the crystal doorknob to our bedroom after dinner. I had excused myself from the meal before the last course and dessert, I spent that extra time pacing the bedroom and rehearsing what I was going to say.

Raoul gave me a quizzical smile when he walked in and saw me standing in the middle of the room, twisting my hands together.

"Tired?"

I answered quite quickly: "Yes."

"You look it."

"Oh, thank you," I said sarcastically, and then gave an awkward nervous laugh afterwords. After he didn't laugh as well it only heightened my apprehension.

I went behind him, quietly, and sat at the vanity stand while he got ready to retire for the evening.

"Did you remember to pack—"

"Everything is ready, Adelaide, don't worry."

"Oh, I know," I continued, "but I was just making sure you didn't neglect the—"

"Adelaide!" He laughed and came over and kissed the top of my head. "Everything is done…and, I don't leave until late morning, so, let us leave the last minute things to truly last minute."

He backed up and looked at me for a moment, which began to make me feel uncomfortable.

"What? What do you see?"

"I was waiting to see how long it took for you to react to the idea of procrastination."

_Coincidental he should mention procrastination…_

"Dear," I began, my voice already starting to quaver, "there is something I need to tell you."

He stepped closer to me again and knelt next to me, resting an arm on the vanity table, and placed his other hand on my knee.

I kept my empty gaze on his hand as I began what I had wanted to tell him for almost two weeks.

"I…well, I…that is to say, oh! Dear," I took a deep breath and finished, "Raoul, I am with child."

I raised my eyes, eager to see his first reaction. To my slight disappointment, it was not immediate joy, more of a shock…but he quickly smiled. Words obviously failed him, for he instead wrapped a hand around my neck and kissed me, gently, as if I would break. I pulled back after a moment.

"Are you…. pleased?"

"_Pleased?" _he exclaimed, standing, _ "_Of course, Adelaide, this makes me very happy. When? When, my darling?"

"April, I believe. Perhaps May."

"I hope to be home by then," he said, though, honestly knowing the likelihood of that statement.

I turned on the stool to look at myself and my husband together in the looking glass.

"I hope it is a boy," I informed our reflections, "an heir."

I had expected Raoul to come back with his usual, gentler answer, but instead he said quite honestly, "That would be….ideal."

We both began to laugh and he leaned over my shoulder and whispered to me, adoringly, that he loved me. That was how our last evening ended together: jubilantly.

That morning I was attacked by an overwhelmingly strong wave of nausea and a throbbing head. I tried to lay perfectly still, not challenging the illness. Though, when Raoul began to stir in the morning, the pain was doubled.

"Please," I begged, sounding quite pathetic, "don't move, don't move…"

I regretted saying anything about how I was feeling, I knew I could have risen and been perfectly fine despite the discomfort! For, because of my complaints, Raoul insisted I stay in bed while the rest of the house broke their fast. His last morning with me and I stayed in bed while he ate with that wretched sister of his! I cried with frustration for that very reason, while holding my head in my arms, pleading for it to be steady again.

By the time he returned upstairs, I had nearly finished getting dressed for the day. Raoul began to protest, but I reassured him I was feeling much better. Which was…partially true.

"Not laced too tightly?" he asked with the genuine concern of a husband, putting his hands just above my hips.

"No," I laughed, pulling his hands from around waist, "it's early yet, you know."

Raoul smiled as he walked over to the dresser, I could tell he was still pondering the chance of finally getting his heir.

"Did you put that last satchel in the largest trunk, Raoul?"

"Yes, dear," he answered dutifully. "I have only a few more - last minute - things to add."  
"Oh?" I questioned.

He nodded and pulled out a silver oval from a drawer.

"What is this?" I walked over slowly and took it from his hands.

Inside was my likeness.

"Raoul," I began, "I'm…I'm touched."

"Oh, and I have this for you!"

From the same drawer he pulled out a locket made from similar silver as the oval dual-frame. He instructed me with his hands to turn. He put it around my neck, then gently pulled my unbound hair out from underneath the long, thin chain.

Putting his arms about my shoulders, Raoul opened up the locket with a quiet click. Inside were two high quality miniatures: one of Victoire, and the other of Raoul and me.

My eyes began to sting with looming tears – a combination of the darling gift, and his leaving. Breaking normality, I turned in his embrace and buried my face in the nape of his neck, fingering his cravat. He said not a word, but simply held me as I cried quietly in his arms.

Raoul finally departed at 11 o'clock on the twelfth of November. Renee, Victoire and I stood on the front porch as we watched Raoul's carriage leave for the coast. I kept my hand on Victoire's shoulder while she cried and waved frantically to her Father, though I maintained an honest melancholy look, my composed demeanor overpowered any other emotion – just as it had my entire life.

Renee had made quite a show when Raoul was just about to depart. Sobs and begging him to stay, I was _almost _amused by the entire situation, and nearly laughed outloud when Raoul rolled his eyes and smiled at me while giving his sister a final embrace. Though, what I wish I could run and tell my husband, that what he had not seen was how quickly she had stopped when he was nearly out of view. I massaged my temple with my other hand only _imagining _how I was to deal with Renee before Raoul's return.

We all filed back in to the house, the sound of the carriage jostling out of sight growing more and more faint. I turned at the last moment, only able to see the very end of the carriage turn the corner. I put my hand delicately to my stomacher, tracing the quaint floral beadwork, wondering when exactly I would see my husband again.


	8. Chapter 7

Thanks to **Ryio16, Phruity, VictorianDream **and **MistyBreyer **for the continued support.

Just so you know, there is a POV switch within this one chapter.

Please do review…reviews make me so happy!

XXXX

Time passed so slowly. What seemed like weeks and weeks had only been a little over one. Then, what seemed like months and months had just barely been two weeks. Few 'storms', as I began to call them, ever came up. I did my best not to argue, or anger my hostesses. Though, once or twice I had found it absolutely necessary for my own sanity. There were many instances where I simply put up with it and did not show agitation in the least.

One afternoon I was quietly reading in the study while Victoire was copying down three bible scriptures I had written out in print for her. Renee walked in and gave a loud sniff, as if to announce her presence.

I looked up, trying to appear serene, closing my book gently, leaving only one finger in the spine, and marking my place.

"Reading, are we," she asked in overly annunciated French as if assuming I could not understand the language spoken as she normally would.

"Yes, I had been reading, but I've stopped now." I was sure to put a little of emphasis on the obvious fact that she had interrupted me.

"Oh, is it good?" I knew she could care less as to whether it was or not.

"Quite enjoyable, thank you."

"Oh, then! What is it? Perhaps _Jane Eyre_?" she laughed at her own joke.

My temper rose immediately, the snide remark had not escaped me.

"No, Renee. It's actually an anthology of poems by Charlotte Bronte's sister, Emilie. Would you like to borrow it after I finish? Oh, wait," I said with false thought, "it is written in English, I fear you would not understand it. I could _translate _it for your convenience, if you'd like." I was thoroughly amused by her befuddled look. "Would you like me to do that?"

She did not even answer the question, but walked out of the room, disappointed by the fact she had not instigated a storm.

All I could do was simply laugh and continue on with what I had been doing.

Renee's husband, Jean, on the other hand, was one I got on very well with. He was a simple man, but so very kind and not judgmental at all. It was he, in fact, who suggested a trip to Paris after finding out that not only was this my first time in France, but we had ridden through Paris and I did not so much look outside the carriage window.

"However, I fear, Adelaide," he said, earnestly, "I would not be able to accompany you. Though, Renee," he called to his wife, who was cross-stitching, "were you not just telling me about how you needed to make a few calls in the capital?"

Her head shot up, and she showed with both her eyes and her nose flair that she could not believe he had brought that up around me. He smiled back, innocently and I did what I could to keep from laughing.

"Yes _Jean!_ I did say that, however, it's not important…and I do not believe Adelaide, in her state, would want to go…gallivanting…through the country!"

"Actually," I contradicted, "I would _love _a trip to Paris!" I turned to Jean and said in earnest, "I feel perfectly well."

"Excellent," Jean exclaimed, "I will make the arrangements."

Renee looked horrified at the thought of having to go anywhere with me, and started stammering in protest, which Jean chose to be oblivious to.

"Madame," Jean said, rising to go to his study, "you will have quite an experience in the French capital, I can assure you."

We had planned our trip to Paris in only two weeks. It, sadly, could have been figured out in twenty minutes if postage back and forth did not take so long. Victoire, Renee and I were going to stay with friends of the Mariuean's, Jean's family, the Touliers. Renee also wrote, asking her sister to join us, who declined. Her letter suggested the reason of her decline was, quite plainly, my presence. This only added to the irritation of Renee and made me dread the capital even more.

We sat quietly at the dining table the evening before our departure.

"I dislike the capital," she said in-between bites, "Do you know why, Jean?"

"No," he responded, wearily, "but I can take a guess."

"Do so then," she snapped. Jean remained silent, a sign for her to continue. "That's where our darling Philippe disappeared."

As downcast as my eyes had been, I managed to lower them even more. Raoul had hardly told me details of his brother's death and I had never pressed the matter, never guessing it would come up again, as he had treated it as such a sensitive subject. As if she had read the fearful thoughts crossing my mind, Renee shot a glance at me.

"Did Raoul tell you about the circumstances of his death?"

"Yes, Renee," I answered, trying to sound compassionate, "I am most sorry about your loss."

"Yes, well," she answered, all-knowingly, "I suppose that'll remind you further to have a care, considering who you are now…I suppose."

I nodded reverently as if I understood her ambiguous statement – not ever letting the slightest hue of a puzzled glance cross my face.

We arrived in Paris in the early evening. To my great relief, we had ridden in two separate carriages. I stepped out of mine first, rubbing the sleep from my eyes and looking about at the busy city. I then became aware of the stares I was receiving and became quite uncomfortable. Quickly, I pulled my bonnet on more securely and stood facing the Touliers' flat entrance.

Victorie, at my side, began to chatter incessantly about the previous time she had been in Paris. By then Renee had stepped out of hers and was greeting Madame Toulier affectionately. I looked back at Victorie and took in her crooked collar and her unruly curls. Suddenly fearing her dishelved appearance would be a reflection of my new place as a Mother. For the first time as a Stepmother instead of a governess, I straightened her collar and pulled her curls through my fingers, and then pushing them behind her ears.

"Marman!" she called out in protest, "Stop it!"

I stopped still. I was vaguely reminded of her first question to Raoul when we had returned from Italy…_'Papa, what am I to call her?' _Raoul had looked so uncomfortable, as if he was worried of giving an answer that would insult us both. I stepped forward and said calmly, 'You can call me…Adelaide…if you'd like.' And since then it had never been questioned.

"What did you say?" I asked, softly.

"Stop it," she repeated with a laugh, pulling at her curls, placing them as _she _wanted.

"Oh," I said, awkwardly, "Come then."

I turned and held my hand out to her, and we followed Renee and Madame Toulier up the stairs into their little flat.

We stepped inside and I was quickly introduced to Madame Touliers and her husband. The maid took my shawl and hat from me, and I continued to look at the small amount of people through the door's stained glass.

"They were all watching me," I whispered quietly, nearly to myself.

"Of course they were," Renee sniffed, walking into the sitting room, "You're the Vicomtess de Chagny now."

"Oh yes," chirped in the jolly Mme. Touliers, "there was a write up in the paper about your arrival and everything!"

"What?"

M. Toulires took a copy of L'Epoque from the small cedar round table from front entrance as we walked into the sitting room and handed it to me.

Just as she said, there was a complete article. It mainly discussed Raoul's work with the Navy again, and in the last paragraph it mentioned the 'expectant Vicomtess' to be visiting Paris with Renee Chagny- Mariuean.

"My God," I murmured. "Well, I _hardly_ made an official announcement. They know everything"

"Oh, dear," Madame said with a laugh, "welcome to society!"

My first day in Paris could not possibly have been anymore uneventful. Dark clouds loomed over the city, so Renee had insisted it was too humid to do _anything _but to sit in the flat and chat idly.

"We have _so _much to catch on, Feodore!"

It was perhaps the first day of my life to waste on such idolatry. We sat in the parlour, Victoire flipping through a picture book Mme. Touliers, Feodore, had had. I sat on the edge of the sofa, cross-stitching and taking in every bit of the conversation between Renee and Feodore.

I learned finer details about how they had met, and was quite amused by the stories I heard about Raoul's childhood.

"What a spirited child, he was," I laughed.

"Still is," chirped in Renee. "Gallivanting off with the Navy trying to prove his worth."

"He feels it is his duty," I said, defensively.

"And what burdens he leaves because of it."

I looked up, setting my work on the table against the sofa and excused myself.

Completely furious, I walked towards the front door.

"Where are you going?" questioned Renee.

"Out," I said flatly, grabbing my hat and shawl from the hooks in the corner. "I think I'll take a walk."

She pulled my hand back from the doorknob and threw it back down on my side. Stepping very closely she put her mouth right up to my ear.

"Listen to me very closely,_ Madame Vicomtess_," she whispered in a challenging, deadly tone. "I implore you to remember what you are. You may have a title, but you are nothing but a British governess who struck gold. You, as if this was possible, are a step _down _from marriage to a scandalized opera singer. People may be kind to you, but really they're laughing at how regal you hold yourself, when you really have not one bit of propriety to your being."

I drew back and glared at her hateful little face. Opening the door, I began to step out, but my pride was insisting on me getting the last word in.

"And I'll remind you, Madame Mariuear," I was sure to put emphasis on the fact that she had not been a de Chagny in over 20 years, "that you do not have to be born into society to have any sense of the word 'regal'." I paused for a moment, straightening my posture quite exaggeratedly, "It is a matter of the person. You possess it," I dramatically looked at her up and down, "or you don't."

Walking out of that house and down the porch stairs, I had to strain to keep myself from laughing outloud. That had to have been the worst possible thing to say, and had most likely not made any sense…but there was liberation to it.

As I continued walking down the street, I noted the further I journeyed the more deserted the city seemed to be. Dusk was setting in. Shops were closing for the evening, and Mothers were calling out to their children in French to come inside from their little games of marbles and skipping rope outside.

XXXXX

I watched her from across the street. She stood, her side facing me, but her hat covering her face. She was bending over, adjusting the dress collar of a little girl I knew had to be her daughter. The little girl was the mirror image of Christine: thin and pale, with long arms and legs and those brown ringlets of curls being blown by the wind. They had a quick conversation, the little girl giggling at something that I guessed her Mother had said. Christine turned, her back now completely facing me, and held out her elegantly gloved hand for her daughter who took it dutifully. Together they walked up to the front door of a city home, and after a knock they were ushered in by a maid, the green door was closed behind them.

I turned away from the window and held my head in my hands for a moment. I had watched Christine for only a few minutes had not even seen her face or heard her voice, and was already being driven mad by her presence.

I had watched Christine on every visit to France without fail – always knowing when her visit would be because the newspapers were always sure to announce with the Vicomte and Vicomtess de Chagny were going to be in the capital. I looked down at the article in my hand. It announced the arrival of the couple and went into detail about the Vicomte's assignment in Africa.

After she had not been to France for over two years, I began to worry I would miss the announcement of her next visit, but after such a long absence she was finally back again. I had almost considered making a third voyage to see her in England. I cursed myself every time I boarded the ship to see her, and hated myself upon every return. But those few moments a day I could see her, even from a distance, was worth anything. I believe those times, sitting at my organ, my entire being consumed by her image, I would have sold my soul to the devil to spend only a moment with Christine. But now, I would make it become a reality. How she would fight it at first, but I was well aware of the power I'm sure I still possessed over her. I knew her soul. I knew the very soul of Christine. And she understood mine.

It was perfect, I had planned it so precisely… I had only to wait for her to walk past the Rue Scribe, and I would finally be able to hold an angel in my arms again – and this time without a plan to return her to the light.


	9. Chapter 8

Darlings! I'm sorry for two counts. One) this is sort of late…and Two) I just realized how short it is! I fear this is the most awkwardly written chapter in the history of ever…but it is key to the plot, so, I could not just omit it.

**lady katrhin: **I'm glad you think it's getting better instead of progressively worse, hee! Thanks for the review – they really do make my day!

**Lurks in Shadows: **I loved how appropriate your username was for your review. I hope you enjoy the on-coming-Erik-ness! 3

**VictorianDream**: Your reviews make me so happy! I do try to write Erik as best as I can, I hope I do the poor man justice…though, I still believe he's too complex por moi! Haha, I love "the insanity factor" – so true! I mean, the man was just a LITTLE off his rocker…I don't know of many guys who would come up with scorpion vs. grasshopper. Then again, he had a lot of free time…

**Stefynae: **Yay Erik! I'm glad you like Adelaide…I hope you still do after she has her experiences with le fantome…ooo! Haha!

**Phruity**: 'ello, pointless reviewer! Nooo, that's okay, Elisa, I love you! Erik would probably let you out to go personally punjab Adelaide. Bwha!

**M'selle de Paris: **Thank you so much for your review – and for the reviews on my other one-shots I received today. To answer your question: no, actually! I read Kay back in November…though, I do have the reprinted version on pre-order. I'm always nervous about writing Kay since I haven't exactly read it 'recently'…but, I'm glad you liked them! Yay suspense! I hope you enjoy this chapter – and I look forward to your revivews!

XXXXX

I had rented a small hotel room across the street from the Touliers' home, waiting for my opportunity. That first day, simply waiting, was perhaps the first day in my life I had ever felt 'optimistic'. I watched her the night before, I could see her silhouette putting her daughter to bed. I felt guilty for a moment, knowing I would separate her from her daughter. _We could fetch her later…and then be a family_.

I knew my thoughts were twisted….to think! I was planning to abduct Christine. No. Abduct was not the correct word. I saw how bombarded she had been by people upon her arrival. I knew my Christine. I knew how her constant life in the public eye had to intimidate her. I remember how she had fainted after her debut as Marguerite…._my new Marguerite_…how could she stand such a larger stage? She could not. I was saving her, and I would save her daughter. Beneath the opera house, her true home, she would be completely safe and comfortable. Her life would be picturesque.

I had been so lost in my reveries I jumped when something out the window caught my eye. I saw the door of the Touliers' close, and a woman walking down the street, securing her bonnet around her face. My darling Christine. My God! She was heading precisely for the Rue Scribe. For a moment I foolishly thought that perhaps she was trying to return….no! Of course not. I knew though, I had to act quickly. I picked up my fedora, adjusting it low, I walked out of the inn leaving the money due on the front desk with the bill.

We walked past our familiar _parc_, I resisted the urge to run next to her and instead remained quite a few paces behind. She paused when she had walked a little way down the rue scribe, only meters from my alley entrance. I knew that could not have been a coincidence…my God! She wanted to return.

I knew then it was now or never. I would use my one power over her – over anyone. My voice. That voice that would bring people to their knees. I knew it obscured any other senses and stirred emotions they had thought themselves incapable of experiencing before. It was a trick from my childhood, but I knew it would work.

I began, softly at first, an English ballard I had translated into French. "_Je t'aime seulement comme les anges aiment_," the key lay on the ground, she finally recognized that's where the sound emitted from and walked towards it slowly. Blindly. "_Dans les royaumes inconnus où la joie ne meurt jamais, Pourtant dans mon coeur je l'enterre, Loin de tous yeux humains" _she held it in her hand, almost swaying back in forth in a stupor. I sent my voice to the keyhole, as she clumsily pushed it in and fiddled with the lock for a while before finally opening it.

"_J'ai demandé de Dieu une âme apparentée, Et il m'a envoyé le tien," _pushing the door open, she stood, dumbly surveying the darkness ahead of her. Throwing my voice down the long hall, she began to walk slowly.

"_Pourtant je peux me casser seulement le coeur," _keeping a reasonable distance away from her I followed behind her, letting my song pour through her soul, for every word I sang was true. _ "Pour tu canst n'est jamais le mien. Ah ! Ne tu pleurnichez jamais, Ah ! Ne tu pleurnichez jamais, Ah!"_

She paused when she reached the bank of the lake, pressing her forward, she stepped onto the boat, crumpling on the musty cushions. Christine wrapped her arms around her head and began to rock back and forth, almost as if she was crying. My angel, my protégé, was fighting my control! I sang more passionately, "_Ne tu pleurnichez jamais, ne jamais plus être le mien. Ah ! ----. Aucun rayon amical de lumière brille par les nuages, Cela abaisse au-dessus de ma tête. Pour la joie a pris des ailes et volé."_

My voice filled the empty caverns, accompinied only by the lapping of the lake water against the boat as I poled us along. _ "Et les mensonges d'espoir saignant, muet et mort. Et seulement les mots de chagrin amer, Triste, Comme la dernière chanson du cygne."_ We reached the shore, and I could no longer countinue, I wanted her to _see, _to _understand _where she was…how she had come to be there, and what her future would hold. "_Peut venir des - lèvres, le froid grandi et pâlit, Avec les secrets tenus aussi longtemps." _I would not…I could not! finish the song. I planned then to someday finish it, but the words were too powerful. I stopped, perhaps too abruptly. She fainted, but before she could hit the ground, I was at her side as I planned to be for the rest of our lives.

With some effort, for I had recently felt age catching up with me, I lifted her previous weight in my arms. As I had planned, I went to push back her hat that had flopped over, and kiss her gently.

When I pulled back her satin bonnet, I do believe my heart stopped from shock. For, it was not my angel I held in my arms.

The rest of the song, if you're curious! _ Je t'aime, je t'aime, comme un amour de l'ange. Je t'aime, je t'aime, comme les anges aiment, Comme les anges aiment, comme les anges aiment, je t'aime, comme les anges aiment !_

English translation:

I love thee only as the angels love,

In unknown realms where joy ne'er dies,

Yet in my heart I bury it,

Away from all human eyes. ------

I asked of God a kindred soul,

And he has sent me thine. ------ 

Yet I can only break my heart, ----

For thou canst ne'er be mine. Ah!

Thou canst never, Ah!

Thou canst never, Ah!

Thou canst never, never more be mine. Ah! ----

No friendly ray of light shines through the clouds,

That lower above my head.

For joy has taken wings and flown.

And hope lies bleeding, mute and dead.

And only words of bitter grief, Sad,

As the swan's last song, -----

Can come from lips, grown cold and pale,

With secrets held too long.

I love thee, I love thee, as an angel's love.

I love thee, I love thee, as the angels love,

As the angels love, as the angels love,

I love thee, as the angels love!

**Music**** by V. Cirillo - 1880**


	10. Chapter 9

I'm so sorry about the delay – I am sure you all know how hectic the first few weeks of school can be. I fear this chapter was also difficult for me to write simply because of the major plot movement. So, do forgive the hash that it is.

**Stellalorelai: **Lorelai? Yay Gilmore Girls! Glad to see you from LJ. Thank you so much for the review and I hope you countinue.

**VictorianDream:** I love your summary of this chapter the best. I wish I could have incorporated it's blatentness earlier! P I am so grateful for your continued support!

**Lady kathrin**: a thousand 'thank you's!

**Phruity**: if this chapter is not well liked, I am completely holding you responsible. You and your peer-pressuring self. Love, dah-ling!

**Nabira: **I certainly hope this was worth your wait! 33

**M'selle de Paris: **I loooooved both of your reviews – seriously, I pray they don't stop! I love my cyber halfmasks and roses, truly, they make for wonderful decorations. They certainly match my virtual sticky notes…which you really can download from some post-it website…not even joking! Please countinue reviewing!

This story is officially being watched by 12 people. Personally, I'm excited.

Anyways! Just for you six reviewers: Chapter 9.

XXXXXX

The last independent sensation I had was the slight idea that I was being followed. However, my mind was quickly come over by something painfully beautiful. It was a song that was much more then a series of notes forming a melody, but instead a collection of emotions: despair, loneliness, _longing_.

An unexplainable sensation overcame me, I heard nothing but the voice, and saw nothing that was in front of me. It was as if a million thoughts flooded my mind, but all led back to the voice. I saw moments with my sisters as a child; I saw my Father's death, my sister's funeral, my first day working for the de Chagny's… I saw Raoul's proposal, the intimate wedding, flashes of Italy… With every image I felt the emotions of the scene in front of me, but all was overshadowed by this…possession.

The sound had made my head throb, I felt like I was to waste away…but when it stopped, _oh! _I thought death was before me, as if I could never be sane again. Though, when I looked at the face…not even the face! The masked face of a man that was not a past memory I do believe I saw my literal death coming momentarily.

I flailed in his arms, catching myself before I hit the ground on my face, scraping my palms on the stone ground.

Crumpled on my knees, I panicked. For the first time in my life I was completely without a thought of logic. I was afraid to speak – he would know I was foreign. Would he perhaps then see a window of opportunity? The perfect advantage. Who was this man? My God! He had been stalking me, surely. A part of the crowd when we had arrived to Paris? Perhaps I was seen as an opportunity to get money…was I taken for ransom? But, no! I was only walking through a park, I could have been anybody from behind… It was then that I decided this man could not know who I truly was, and I would not let him know.

I could hear the masked kidnapper breathing heavily, though I dare not raise my head and look behind. I felt every small movement would very likely be one of my last. I heard his footsteps, backing up – my God! – was he turning away?

I looked up and saw that to my right was a door. Between the door and the floor was a soft amount of light that I knew surely had to be emitted from the street lamps just past the door. Knowing I had only one opportunity, I picked up my skirts and quickly ran to the door, throwing myself at the knob.

Inside was a mirage of two sets of candles, completely symmetrical on either side of the displayed _coffin_. Any sanity I had maintained fled my being at that moment, I absolutely shrieked and stumbled back. My death surely awaited me.

In only a few moments, I had gone from being completely dumbstruck, to held against the wall, his hands threatening to crush my neck.

He did not yell, scream, or rage. Though, I rather he had done so. His tone instead was much more terrifying then any amount or fury could have induced.

"Who are you?" he asked, his voice was strained. His eyes pressed right through me. I lost all of who I had once been – I became a terrified twit who could hardly speak English, more or less French.

"Please, Monseiur, please, do not hurt me!" I felt the hot tears rolling down my face, my entire body quivering.

His eyes flashed the rage his voice lacked. I could not look at them without my fear being doubled and fought to keep my face down. Refusing me this, he cupped my face in his hands and forced me to look at him straight.

"Who _are _you?"

I would let him win…to a degree:

"Adelaide Burnett."

He stood back and scanned me from head to toe and back again. I could not breath. I prepared myself for the worst. A cruel torturous death, perhaps? Or was I now to be his property?

To my surprise, he stepped back in a newly adopted cold confidence. Perhaps my appearance satisfied him, I thought morbidly. However, when he was not physically threatening me, my arrogant demeanor began to resurface.

"What are your intentions?"

"To find my pupil through your assistance."

I pressed harder against the wall upon hearing his cryptic answer. The look in his eye had not changed. They still held all the passions of the world.

My captor had shown me into a room and had informed me it was now mine, and

closed it behind me as I stumbled in, blindly.

Two, long, taper candles stood on the left side of the bed, providing only a breath of illumination in the large room. I feared everything in that room…I could not even make out where the room ended to the right. I knew not waited for me, quite literally, in the wings.

Curiosity overtook me, I knew I could not continue to fear the unknown. Not touching anything, I walked cautiously as far as the light allowed me. Squinting, I was able to make out a large wardrobe, with one door slightly off it's hinge and cracked opened. With the tip of my shoe, I pushed back the door until a dull knock told me it had hit a wall.

After seeing the contents, I drew back in absolute terror, as if fabric could harm me. Inside must have been over fifteen elaborate dresses. I backed up further and further until I hit the only door in the room. Sinking down on the ground, I drew my knees to my chest and tried to silence by cries by biting my hand.

It all made sense to me at that moment. A masked man who worked by night, alone and underground. A large, grand bed, and costumes befitting a Queen. It was not ransom…or random…it was for his pleasure. An obviously repeated offense.

I understood now that this was to be my torture chamber.

I began to silently search for something on the door to protect me. My hands ran into a large metal knob which further up led to a series of slabs. I deadbolted the door to the best of my ability and fell onto the ground again.

After what had to have been hours, I fell asleep on the floor, only to dream about what was in store for me.


	11. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: Wouldn't it be funny if I ACTUALLY tried to tell you guys I owned Phantom?

So sorry it's been a while, darlings! I still love you all…sniffle VictorianDream, where are you?

Having said less then a full sentence to the woman, I sent her to the Louis-Philippe room and after a few moments heard the sound of the dead bolts being pushed frantically to the opposite wall panel.

I walked furiously to my library, knocking over an end table in my fury. For the first time in my life I was confused as to what to say to this woman. 'Who are you?' and getting more of an answer besides two names that mean nothing to me would have been useful. 'How are you?' was certainly more suiting…. I certainly did not make a mistake…I saw her leave that house… she stepped out of the de Chagny carriage…!

I turned on my heel and began walking furiously back and forth the opposite way, a familiar spot. The Persian rug under my feet even had began to show a sign of wear from years of frantic thoughts.

I realized I was avoiding the truth: I had never seen her face. Oh…_a face! _I had never thought to see her face, I believed I had known her…beyond her face. Her soul. To the depth of her very soul. It caused me physical pain to know it had been a manifestation of my mind and not an unearthly bind.

One question loomed: Where was Christine? That was undoubtedly her daughter, her carriage with their crest. What had become of Christine Daae?

My mind dwelled on all the possibilities. The most probable reasons were the reasons I attempted to push to the back of my mind, however, they were ever-present. The more unlikely were, however, becoming more and more plausible as I tried to piece it together. Perhaps it was only because I so wished it to be true as opposed to the original, realistic, ones.

She was the young fellow's mistress. Of course. Often young nobility took mistresses, almost for sport, without ever having to try to hide the matter. Only another reason to be sickened by society. Yes. She was his mistress enjoying all the benefits of a favored wife. However, remembering the loyalty and morals of the young Vicomte I had known almost ten years ago it seemed more impossible no matter the desperation I had to make it plausible.

The only way I could confirm my fears were to ask the lady herself. I walked down the hallway and stopped in front of the door to the Louis-Philippe room.

I would let her rest for this evening.

The following morning, my curiosity was starting to suffocate me. My hatred towards this mere whore was building at an extraordinary rate. I knew the infidelity of her husband would cause her heartbreak. It was still hard to convince myself this was the plausible explanation. After hours of pacing a familiar trail in the library, I knocked, gruffly, at her door.

I expected her to call a response, or to not respond at all, however, she opened it to me only enough that I could see her blood-shot green eye.

"Monseiur?"

Looking away, I asked if she would step out to eat.

I do believe I heard her begin to cry again, for her voice cracked when she said, "Momentarily."

I set out a piece of bread and cheese on a small platter, and next to that a glass of wine. The sound of the oak door clicking shut surprised me, as I had never heard it open. My little prisoner stepped out, her hair knotted up in a half-hazard bun and a white dressing gown loosely tied around her willowy frame.

Mademoiselle Burnett slipped into the wooden chair, being quite careful never to leaning back. Her table manners were impeccable. She kept her eyes intently on her plate, never once glancing up at me. I stood to her right, arms crossed. Finally, I knew I had to ask.

"You could make this difficult, _Mademoiselle_, or you could make it easy," I sneered. "Tell me what I need to hear and we will make arrangements based on that."

Her head shot up and her eyes starred at me with such intensity I had to check myself before I faltered.

"I am going to ask you one question. Answer to the fullest."

"Can I ask you one?" she snapped. Her eyes widened when she realized that had escaped her mouth. Looking back down at her plate she nodded her head in agreement. "Ask."

"Who are you to the de Chagny family?"


	12. Chapter 11

I feel so terrible, and I know that these chapters are getting even more and more disappointing, but, darlings, I do promise I have an ending written already and hopefully it's worth the painful chapters for now!

It is with much guilt I admit that Raoul has always been a rose to our family. It is no compliment. Roses are difficult to grow and even more so to maintain. They have thorns and tend to hinder the surrounding flowers from their full growth. Also, their growth is very hit or miss. Sometimes you are allowed to enjoy the beauty of the rose before it eventually withers and sometimes it just disappears over night and you are left with the stubs of that failed attempt.

Philippe, nor my sister Juliet could deny that it was difficult to raise Raoul. The cause of our Mother's death and the cause of much pain to our late Father. He was so much younger then we were, it was as if our lives – marriage, children, a full education – was put on hold or forgotten about to raise him suitably.

I loved him. I would be telling a great lie if I tried to say I did not. Raoul was a darling child, so happy and eager to please. Such a bright and perfect child, it was quite easy to become all the more irritated at the faults he possessed only brought on by these virtues.

The let-downs can never be accused of over-exaggeration. The blame for the death of my parents will always fall on him. It is as if it is the original sin that no baptism can remove. His infatuation with an opera singer, the mysterious death of Philippe, his very marriage to the said opera girl and his life he kept in London. What exactly he did to keep himself occupied with there I was never sure of. I never asked, though, always wanted to. I assumed he invested in one small business or another, toying with his wealth as a child would a new gift. A fascinating object he could never comprehend the value of.

It is cruel sounding of me, an older sister, but no one can deny these things. He married for, seemingly, pleasure. Twice. Both Juliet and I, and I'm sure Philippe had he been given the chance, married in an attempt to double our assets, multiply our good name. An opera singer and a governess were a humiliation. A humiliation that was about to worsen.

"Yes, thank you Inspector." The optimism was so obviously forced in Feodore Toulier's voice. "Yes, of course. Getting closer! Good night then, and thank you again." The front door closed softly and she came back into the sitting room, watching the Inspector walk down the street.

"It has been two weeks," she said, still watching outside.

"I know," I said shortly. "What am I to do? There is nothing left to do then what we are already!"

There was an awkward silence in the room, the only noise being the irritating tock of the a large Grandfather clock from the hall.

"I think it is time you sent word to your brother." I scowled at the suggestion, but knew she was right.

"And say what?" I began, "'Dear Brother, your little wife disappeared. Hope the Boers are behaving themselves! Regards, your sister.'? I am trapped, Feodore, and it all points to being _my _fault."

Feodore turned from the window, "Well, was it?"

I gaped at her for a moment, but was not given a chance to continue, for Victoire had walked in the room, obviously she had escaped from the neglecting temporary governess we had hired.

"You are going to write to Papa?" I nodded and beckoned her to my side. Despite the looks she had inherited from her plain Mother, she truly was a dear child.

"Yes, I am, Victoire," speaking louder I continued, staring at Feodore, "today."

A letter was sealed and sent by post that following morning. In it, I had told Raoul as delicately as I could allow myself of what had happened to Adelaide. It was brief, for truly, the information I had was minimal: last seen by us, taking a walk outside, and not a trace after that. It was as if the ground had opened and swallowed her whole. No one remembered seeing a young woman walking down the rue, no one that had either come forward or remembered, that is.

It would be a lie to say that I did not care about this young girl's life. However, I did see it as an opportunity to move on from that chapter of my brother's – my family's – life. A young thing like her? A foreigner? I knew the chances of her still being alive or traceable were slim to none.

Tragic? Yes. Convienent? Perhaps. Fate? I do think so.


	13. Chapter 12

Things will get better soon… I do hope! And, yes, **VictorianDream**, I've had the ending written, re-written, re-re-re-written, rer0e0re—re-re-r-e, etc. since August. I do love it!

It was rage I had never before witnessed in my life. Truly a seemingly non-existent heart shattering. Even more so. It was as if any remains of his soul had ceased to exist as it had lost it's counterpart. I had to mask my own realization when I finally put together who _he _was.

My God! Had I been so blind? Who else would kidnap a woman through song but an Angel of Music? He who sang an orphan to sleep, acted as a Father to her and did nothing but guard her and help her in her career. Yet, on the other side of the fence: he who murdered, he who lied, he who manipulated and threatened.

I truly was underground. Underground, and trapped. With an absolute mad man. I saw my future shrouded in endless darkness.

After I had told him of Christine Daae's death, I realized my affiliated with the de Chagny was the last on his mind. The man lost his footing and groped for a table stand. Sputtering, unable to speak, he simply raged. The table was knocked over, an elaborate glass candle holder: shattered. He stormed to his piano bench and threw himself there, catching his breath. Then, began to tear at the piles and piles of sheet music with furry.

I had kept my head down, looking only at the provided dressing gown I know knew was meant to be Christine's. That thought made the material burn my skin, it was going to choke me to death slowly, it was going to slowly suffocate me.

Jumping up from the table like a raving woman, I staggered to reach the door of what was coined my bedroom the previous evening. My captor had obviously noticed my attempt to flee the room and grabbed my wrist, forcing me to once again face his expressionless mask.

I starred into his eyes, his breathing, violent. It was as if he was attempting to bring himself to tell me something, but could not. Though, what he even wanted to tell me I could not even begin to guess. What was there to say? One reaction to the death of one woman explained everything to me. Not only did it explicate to me what I was doing there, but it clarified the expression Raoul had when telling me the abridged story of Christine and her Angel of Music. Horror, shock, pity and true fear of the unknown.

"Who are you?" I asked very slowly, saying each syllable as clearly as possible.

"My name is Erik," he said in accented English, expressionless as his mask.

"You speak English?" I asked, both irritated that he had hidden this fact from me until now, knowing perfectly well my French was atrocious, and flabbergasted

I knew at that moment I was in a situation in which I could not be snappy, or use cold wit to charm anybody. I was at his mercy – Erik's mercy. I had to be sweet, if not completely dumb. I would get myself out that way. I would act completely compliant and fearful. I was having to truckle my way into freedom.

"Well, Erik, I understand."

A smile formed on his twisted lips, he backed away and let out a howl of hysterical, _manical!_ Laughter completely void of humor.

"You understand _nothing!_"

In Erik's world of perpetual night and monotonous exsistence, I lost all track of the hour…the day. Had I been there for a few days? Perhaps a week? It might as well have been months. Nothing mattered to me anymore.

I hated him, I feared him. But, what other choice had I but being agreeable and pleasing? I never said a word to him, and in return, he rarely spoke back. I would make a meal for myself and for him, leaving it on the table. I never knew when, or if he ate, but the food was always gone within a few hours. I never truly knew if he was within his home, or if perhaps he had left for a bit. I never trusted that variable enough to attempt to find a door, or a way out. In my slow descent to madness, I began to become convinced that there was no way out at all. I spent most of the time with my doors bolted in my own smaller cage within that cage kingdom that Erik commanded. After roughly sketching loose waisted dresses, I began to re-do a few of Christine's dresses to suit myself.

I never became accustomed to the sudden playing of the organ, it never failed to make me nearly jump out of my seat or send my heart racing and adrenaline running. Erik's songs were ones filled with anguish and passion that made my head throb. If his sudden bout of playing continued into hours of mournful songs I would lie in the large bed and mourn for myself. It was, to say the least, a pathetic existence.

Though, one evening (every moment was an evening) an alarm sounded that sent the book from my hands and had me on my feet looking about frantically. What was I hoping to see? I suppose something…anything! new that perhaps had potential for my assistance. The only change in the room, however, was the motion of a curious bell-looking siren above the doorframe that began a stair-case downwards leading to the lake.

Erik ran from his bedroom, slamming the door hard behind him.

"The damned siren!"

I looked over at him, I'm sure looking as confused as I truly was.

"Go," he hissed, between clenched teeth.

So shocked to actually receive an order from him, I did so quickly. If someone had demanded that of me pre-kidnapping I would have stood my ground and questioned. However, I knew pleasing him was all I could do to…stay alive?

I pressed my ear against the closed door, hearing only the pacing of two sets of dressed shoes and angry whispers in a foreign tongue.


	14. Chapter 13

I received a few emails and private messages concerning continuation…after seeing Phantom in London I was inspired to add a few more chapters, with the hopes of finishing. Therefore, my six (or so) readers…here you are! This being from Nadir's POV directly where I left off…oohhh, when was it? October? P Please do review even if it is, "this is godawful, plzkthanx, bye!" It really does make my day to receive a review, and it would amuse me to receive flames. But, in all seriousness, constructive criticism is more then welcomed, but wished for!

It had been weeks since my last visit paid to Erik. My concern for him was greater then he would ever know or care to believe. I do not believe there was a more unique relationship then his and mine.

However, I noted something aloof when I reached the underground kingdom. Two plates forgotten since a last meal and a disarray of cushions in the typically untouched sofa are only a few examples. I began to fear the worst.

"Where is Madame de Chagny?"

He rounded the chair, groping for every piece of furniture for support. He began to laugh his cold, cackle with not a trace of humor.

"Dead, Daroga. Dead, dead, dead…"

I stood in utter shock, _he could not have! _However, I put nothing past him. I thought of a thousand things to say to him, to ask of him, yet words had failed me.

"No, Nadir, you always assume the worst! It is not I who killed her. Oh, no, not I…"

Not convinced I looked to the door frame of the Louis-Philippe room, it was faintly illuminated. Before my eyes, I could clearly picture a dead Christine Daae stretched upon the grand bed. I shuddered at the thought, however, did not let my face reveal my morbid thoughts. Instead, I forced an inquisitive face that I knew would spark Erik's continuation.

"Yes, oh, yes, Nadir," his eyes shone with weeks of madness, "there is a woman. I shall leave you two to be acquainted."

And with that he left. To haunt the Opera House, or to walk in the cold night air…I did not know. I would not put taking his own life past him at that moment…oh, the insanity in his face….

I collected my thoughts and slowly knocked at the Louis-Philippe room, knowing not what else to do. To my shock, a voice responded. I exhaled. She was not dead. However, when the voice repeated her response again, I realized it was not a voice I recognized.

"Oui? …._oui!_"

She did not sound afraid, more as if she was answering some sort of judge in court. Exhausted, and ready to give in to what she knew to be injustice.

Without waiting for a second knock, or even a response, the door opened.

She was surprisingly tall, hair knotted back making the color almost indecipherable and – only slightly -- visibly with child.

"Oh, Allah," I sighed out, resorting to my native tongue. "Dear girl," I muttered in French, "who are you?"


	15. Chapter 14

I never considered myself to be a weepy, overly-sensitive person…however, the sight of another person aside from my captor and a caring tone of voice nearly sent me into hysterics. I began to weep before the stranger's echoes finished ringing through the caverns of the underground hell. Without knowing who this man was, who he was to Erik, or anything at all…through sobs I choked out the entire story. He sat very quietly and looked right at me through the entire recitation. Only after I had finished, did he stand up and walk towards Erik's organ where the shredded music still remained from the second day of my captivity.

I rushed to his side and began bombarding him with questions. Who was he? Was he with the police? How soon could I leave? Had my husband been contacted? What was known about me to the rest of the world? Was I thought dead, or simply missing? To my extreme frustration, he answered none of these, but continued looking at the mess Erik's rage had caused.

"Sir!" I shouted, nearly reaching hysterics once more. He turned and faced me.

"I am afraid, Madame, it is not my place to take you away from here," I am sure my entire face fell at that. Noticing this, the stranger continued: "However, I shall talk to him."

"You shall _talk _to him?" I repeated, outraged. Before completely losing my tempter, I calmly asked, "Who are you?"

"I knew Erik in Persia, we met again years later here in Paris."

I scoffed at his assumption that that brief statement was explanation enough. I was also now quite embarrassed that I been weeping in his presence but a few moments ago. I felt as if I no longer had control over myself.

"And you knew Christine Daae?"

It was the first moment we had said her name.

"I did," he said slowly, "and did nothing when I knew Erik had her down here."

I drew myself up to my full height, completely irritated with this weak man. "You are at just as much fault as the captor for saying – for _doing _– nothing while knowing so much." I felt myself about to snap, and tried to maintain composure. "What is to happen to me then, as you seem all-knowing. Am I to be killed?"

"Oh, no," he exclaimed immediately, "Erik would never kill….you, that is," he added quickly and almost smiled at his own blunder.

"Comforting."

A noise was heard by both of us, though from where I knew not as I had yet to discover a true door into and out of the structure. I turned sharply when I heard footsteps and saw the masked madman stumble in. I was surprised by his posture; normally his stance mirrored his evening wear. The foreign stranger picked up on his condition faster then I, and rushed to his side, but was swatted at by Erik who seemed to be having difficulty breathing.

"You're ill!" I said, ignorantly. For, it was quite obvious and unnecessary to say.

"Leave," he hissed through gritted teeth, "_leave!" _

I did.


	16. Chapter 15

Darlings! I am happy to have acquired a few new readers. However, I must apolgiese to all of you, as I was not very clear on the ending of the last chapter. By _left _I meant…the room! Hee! Sorry dears, but, this melodrama still has a ways to go. Btw, I owe my first born child to Elisa for beta'ing this for me. I hope the narration changes aren't confusing to all of you, I simply have a fear for writing in third person. I'll try to note who is speaking from now on.

**Nadir**

"You've worked yourself into an attack, my friend," I nearly scolded, slipping back into Persian.

"It is not…an attack!" Erik hissed. He sank into a chair and took gulps of air in before I continued.

"Now, just how long are you going to keep her here?"

He did not respond.

"Better yet, why have you thus far?"

He turned sideways, as if trying to end this one-way conversation.

"She is not going to turn into Christine, you know," I waited to see what effects these words would have on him. "Christine is dead."

Erik turned to me, slowly, upon that. "Oh yes," he said in a laughing tone void of all humor, "Christine _is _dead…just as Erik _is _dead." Erik mocked the newspaper clipping that I had posted by his request.

"Why are you keeping her here? The Madame has done nothing wrong."

Erik completely ignored the question. He put his head in his hands and began breathing quite audibly again. For a moment, I wondered if I was watching Erik attempt to come up with an answer himself.

"Tell me, old friend," I tried to reach him from a different aspect.

He stood slowly and stalked over to his organ and thumbed through sheets upon sheets of handwritten music violently. "I want to know …I want someone to know!"

I stood, puzzled. "Know? Know what, Erik?"

As if he had just been shocked, he went rigid and threw the music to the ground. "Leave," he barked, "leave us in peace!"

Seeing now that I had done absolute harm and no good, I made my way to where I knew the exit would appear.

"Do not harm her, Erik," I left as my only warning, "I am your loyal friend and will be forever, but?…do not be ridiculous."

Nearly growling, Erik snatched up an ink pot as if he would throw it in my direction and I quickly left.

Walking down the Rue, to my own apartment, I began to attempt to piece together what he had said. However, to try to understand Erik's mind was to try to understand the enigma of the gods. Impossible.


	17. Chapter 16

**Misty Breyer**: thank you so much…as you know, it is always an honor to get compliments from _you!_

**Mrs Turner-Padalecki**: what an excellent username…Will Turner…ahh…I can't wait for Pirates 2. Thank you so much for your kind words – although, I can't say I agree…there are far too many good POTO stories out there! However, I am so glad to see that you are getting into it, I'm not going to lie, I've become quite absorbed myself!

**MJ MOD: **Your summary-esque reviews are always such a pleasure to receive…I hope you stick around!

**Catoftheopera: **So glad you're enjoying this – it was also a pleasure to receive your email!

To all of you, please do review…it is really encouraging to read and makes me want to continue!

I hope things are going to start picking up after this…however, I sincerely hope it doesn't look like I'm trying to lead cattle through Manhattan, and that it countinues smoothly. Please tell me if you are ever lost, or confused…I would love to clear things up for you (and if I were ever to repost this somewhere else, I would be sure to take those confusions into account and try to make all more clear!) Hmm, I haven't put one of these in a while, so, I hope no one has called their lawyer yet: I don't own anything, at all, in fact! Leroux, Kay, and Webber…hurray for you guys!

Onward! – from Eriks' POV.

Feeling that creeping pressure on my chest, I slowly lowered the ink well. I turned towards the Louis-Philippe door to make my way back to the sitting room and nearly jumped to see the wife there. I began to say something, but the thought came too late. I felt as if God's wrath itself was taking place inside my body cavity. The paralyzing spasms brought me down upon my knees, crumpled on the ground like a shot animal.

Horrified, she recoiled and pressed herself against the closed door, one hand flying her gaping mouth and the other to the slight curve of her belly. I knew the thought of escape crossed her mind, but she knew that she was unable to as the design hid all egresses.

After what seemed an interminable amount of time of this frozen scene, I gathered my strength and made my way to an armchair. Mlle. Burnett no longer leaned on the wall, and had brought her hand from her face atop her second on her belly.

The entire thing cruelly reminded me of my attack during Christine's first stay here when she had removed my mask. I became lost in the memory of her clamoring to assist me, and her utter confusion and then quick digression. She had asked to go home to her Father. Her Father who I knew well to be dead. To distract her, I had asked her if she would make tea.

"I beg your pardon…tea?"

I turned to look at her. I had spoken a near decade past question aloud. I turned back and silently berated myself for my stupid act. However, maintaining dignity, I only said, as commanding and authoritative as I possibly could: "Yes, Russian tea. With lemon…it's really very--…light the samovar." She was not Christine. For, her reaction was to immediately look for something she could not identify. She was also not Christine in the sense that I did not bother to explain the cat basket. "By the coffin."

I walked her through, verbally. It pained me so to continue speech, after each attack it took longer to regain the ability to do normal things…they were worsening. She followed everything exactly. However, her face was as a stoic and her actions mechanical.

After placing the cup on the table next to the arm chair, she quickly turned her heel to return to her room, but I stopped her.

"Sit."

She walked back to face me, slowly, and drew herself up to her complete height as if she was attempting to intimidate me. From this stance, she seemed to have gained a bit of confidence.

"I am not a dog, sir, I am not to be commanded as such. I am a lady."

"Actually," I said cruelly, "you are nobility. In which case, I will say '_please_, sit.'"

Insulted, yet she was unable to deny that I had asked correctly as she had said, she found the back of the chair with her lower leg, as a lady would, and sank into the sofa.

"Christine Daae is dead," I said after a moment of calming silence had passed. "However, you did not, Mademoiselle Burnett, tell me your relation to the family. Well-treated whore, perhaps? …with a bastard?" It was low; however, her words and actions had not exactly endeared her to me.

"I began to tell you my relations to the family," she began, unflinching to my vulgar insinuation, "however, I do believe before I was able you had overturned furniture, raged and swore, destroyed things…etcetera." She paused, waiting for me to become enraged; however, my torn chest did not allow me to as I might have wished. "I am the second wife of the Viscount. We were married six months after the death of the Mistress; it was her dying wish for Raoul to remarry if it benefited the livelihood of their daughter."

So the twit of a man had remarried! Due to some lusty desire for a woman! I did not see beauty in it, under the pretense of a dying wish; he had married some woman who most likely brought him added title and wealth. My twisted pleasure quickly turned in to rage when I realized what else that entailed. He had not waited more then a year to remarry, detracting all respect from Christine as his wife for years. This reminded me of other ways he most likely detracted from her happiness. Happiness only I could have provided for her. Love, music, and undying adoration and spoiling… Madame le Vicomtess spoke again, bringing me out of my hatred.

"I was a governess to his daughter. That is how I met him."

She paused, waiting for me, again, to interrupt in some fashion. I did not. Perhaps I would have, had I possessed the energy, but I was curious to see what an uncomfortable moment would do to this little Vicomtess.

"As you probably know, he is on duty with the Navy at the moment…I was staying with his sister," she paused, looking down at her left hand. "In fact, I wonder if she has written to Raoul…am I to be pronounced dead, or missing? Have they searched for me at all?"

I smiled cruelly and began to toy with her.

"It simply depends on what newspaper journalist you ask. The gossip magazines have reported that you ran off with a lover and are now in Spain. British newspapers have said that you were the young woman found drowned in the Seine. Suicide. The French newspapers have said you simply disappeared. Quite imaginative on all their parts, don't you think?"

She sat now, both feet flat on the ground, her back completely straight. Looking right at me, she said passionately, "I hate you. And I would like to know when you intend on killing me. Now…or later?"

Toying with her still, as if she was a cat given to be for my amusement, I concluded: "What if I am to keep you with me, until we die?"

"That seems the likely possibility," she said, rising, her face stoic once more "as it is impossible to get out of hell."


	18. Chapter 17

_MJ MOD, it is not strange! It is entirely amusing…and I love receiving them!_

_Misty Breyer, I love receiving your reviews oh-so much…mainly because 90 of the time, Erik has a say in things. Yes, only a British nanny would have the nerve indeed!_

_Jbwriter, thank you for your criticism…I too feel like it's dragging. I was quite amused by the "Perils of Pauline" comment! There is a resolution for her in the end…I hope I can finish posting all of it to get to that point! _

I wrote all but the very last epilogue last night, but, I am going out of town soon…so, it'll probably take two weeks to finish this, but, fear not! The end is in sight.

Please read and review…it really makes my day!

Onward!

From Adelaide's POV

What seemed like weeks passed. The only indication of passing time was the changing of my body. A miscarriage became a rising fear in me, more so then my own death. I knew nothing of childbirth, or advancing pregnancies as I had rarely been around these situations.

I decided that it was likely about late January or just barely February.

My existence with Erik was the definition of tension. It was also quite tedious…as I had no clock in my room, nor was there one to any of my knowledge in either of the living rooms or music room, I never knew the time. I did fall into some sort of cycle though; a cycle of nerve-wracking dullness, I had not even known before that that was indeed possible. I slept, I awoke, ate a little – usually I prepared a meal only for myself, and by prepare I mean unwrap the groceries that I suppose must have been dropped from the opera house, for, I know not where it came. Then I would sit and read, or just sit and cross-stitch from Christine's old cases and occasionally watch Erik scratch away madly on parchment, from what I could tell the scribbles were not identifiable to me as music or as letters of any known alphabet. He was also gone for hours at a time leaving with nothing and returning with nothing.

As far as conversation….it was often Erik commanding and me eventually obeying. The question of my eventual purpose was constantly on my mind.

One evening, I was determined to receive an answer from him and I knew it was not going to be as simple as asking for the time of day…though, I jest, as now I question whether he knew even that.

Leaving the Louis-Philippe room, I walked into the sitting room and for the first time absolutely beamed at him as if my life in his hovel was like a trip to the carnival. He only saw my expression and responded with nothing but a blank look from his eyes, and always that masked, expressionless yet harsh face.

Quietly, I made Russian tea as I had done once before, and simply set it at the edge of his little desk and sat in a seat parallel to his chair and folded my hands and my ankles and watched him from under my eyelashes under the pretense of looking at my hands. A small _cling _indicated that he had taken the tea cup from its saucer, and I took that opportunity to say something. I went to open my mouth and realized I knew not how to begin "pleasant conversation" in which the weather could not be involved. After a moment, I finally began to speak

"Whatever it is you are writing…you are quite diligent at it." I hoped that would flatter his vanityand open a conversation. He looked at me keeping his surprised, twisted, amusement in check and gestured at his papers with clumsy hands as if he had forgotten what exactly they were and he was too occupied with the thought that I had just made him tea and was _smiling_. Dear God…he thinks me mad!

"Is the tea to your liking? I must admit, the idea of it is quite strange to me."

He nodded. Why was he refusing to speak? I was beginning to grow agitated, or, perhaps he knew I was going mad!

"What is the date?" I asked.

He continued looking at me. I felt myself twist within my own skin and become increasingly uncomfortable.

"I assumed it was around January…perhaps February." Still no response. "I'm sure the weather is quite cold, England is hardly bearable in the winter."

Nothing.

"Although, I doubt you are caught in the elements very often."

A direct reference to him and he did not respond, now he studied the tea cup, and it's contents without drinking it.

"Will you please at least _nod_?" Why was I allowing myself to become so irritated at his childish tricks? This was a game my sisters and I would play when we were mad at the other as little girls."Fine! Don't nod!"

He did not even bat an eye.

"My God, please say something!"

He did not even stir.

"Why are you doing this to me? Let me be! Don't you see, you are quite mad and dragging me in too? What are you waiting for, my good _sir_," I no longer felt as myself and was beginning to hear words and not process the impact they might have, "Christine is quite dead! _Quite _dead! She saw the newspaper article, and yet, she did not return. Are you still waiting?" He rose from his chair, menacingly, and my heart began to pound in my chest, and yet, I continued.

"Or, best yet…are you hoping I will in fact turn in to Christine?" I walked over to the organ, wildly, and stood in a mock recital position, "Shall I sing for you? Let me warn you, I am a bit off pitch and not what you would call an angel of music! I am not seeing your purpose, Phantom, beyond your desire to ruin the lives of people…especially the one who you claimed to have loved the most, which leads me to say--"

"SILENCE!"

I thought I would die in that moment. His voice resounded with hues of hell itself and his eyes were ablaze. I staggered back and held on to the spine of the organ to remain standing.

"You insolent woman," he murmured under his breath with such cruelty I would have preferred that he had bellowed, the quiet words were ten times as frightening as any yell.

"You know nothing. _Nothing_." His hand rose in the air, I quickly turned my cheek and shut my eyes, awaiting a sharp blow, but, when I opened them he had disappeared.

I bolted as quickly as I could manage to the Louis-Philippe room and upon confirming that it was empty, I dead-bolted it and tested it to be sure before throwing myself into the large sleigh bed and crying silently in frustration until I fell asleep.

When I woke up…God knows how many hours later…a note in the most demonic handwriting was sitting on the bed stand.

_There is a purpose._

_E. _

I rushed to the door. It was still dead-bolted. Immediately, I ripped the absurd note to shreds and let the paper fall like confetti to my feet.


	19. Chapter 18

This is one of those horrible filler-ish chapters that are still important to the plot! But, fear not, for, the rest of the story is written except for the Epilogue. And, if you guys wanted a sequel (heee!) I have an idea for one. I suppose you might like to know the ending before I do _that! _You know…all five of you. Tops. However, you are all my darlings.

_MJ MOD: you're guessing amuses me so much…and makes me think that "gosh, I could have done that too!" Ah, it makes me so happy…you are quite clever! _

_Jbwriter: Poor Adelaide indeed! Oh, I am just going to flatten on that idea: no baby mistreatment! I would never make Erik do that! I am glad to see you are hooked…I am too, in a way, to see how everyone feels about the ending I have written. Do continue reading, I'm almost through! _

_Misty Breyer: Right after I post this I am so taking my tail end to see this Darcy-business. I am TRES excited. Haha, yes, I've finally been able to write now that school is over, and I am just driven by the idea of finishing and…yes, basically that. Oh, trust me, more from Adelaide's POV to come…so glad you're reading and reviewing! _

Do countinue reading and reviewing, lovelys!

From Raoul's POV

The pendulum cries from the Grandfather clock in the hallway filled the sitting room with only a brief sound, shattering a morose silence that coated the space. A friend and colleague of mine, Robert Isaac sat in the chair opposite mine, and his little wife, Ella, stood at the window, avoiding the conversation of gentlemen that had long since ceased.

"So," Robert began, "you have resolved to sell the flat and return to Blois?"

"Yes," I replied quickly, "I left Victorie there. I did not want her to see the flat sell."

"Well," murmured Ella, "you will be missed terribly in London, and you have a place to stay when you chose to have a return visit."

Raoul turned to her and took her petite hand in his, silently thanking her for her support and kindness. "I could actually use your assistance to go through Adelaide and Christine's old boxes and older clothes, I would rather to give them to charity then to haul them all the way to Blois where they would serve no purpose."

"Of course," she agreed quickly. She was silent for a moment, and exchanged a quick look with her husband which I suppose she did not believe I caught. "Again, Raoul, we are both very sorry for your loss. Adelaide was a dear woman. Though, I was surprised I did not find her obituary in the London Times, I would have saved it."

Raoul twisted his mouth, bitterly, at the mention of the lack of obituary. As monotonous as possible, he responded: "The London Times does not print obituaries caused by suicide. Any mention of those are founding the gossip rags or discussed at ungodly hours in pubs."

Ella gasped, and walked over to Robert.

"Oh, you had not heard it was a suicide?"

The Isaacs shook their heads simultaneously.

"Well, yes, that is what the French police decided. Her…" I could not utter it, but he forced himself to for the sake of setting the record straight, "a corpse was found in the river that had similar measurements as Adelaide in accordance with my sister's description. There were no signs of a struggle, and a hat was still pinned on, only slightly askew. Suicide was the verdict."

Avoiding the awkward silence that was destined to follow that explanation, I abruptly stood. With a quick look at the stunned faces of his guests, I fled the room, going up to the library, leaving my guests to be escorted out by Jane, the maid.

After standing in the center of the room, I calmed myself slightly before noticing a certain design on the Persian rug, and released it was the very place I had proposed marriage to Adelaide. I quickly knocked over an end table, once again enraged and was satisfied that it had covered the spot where I could still imagine her little feet turning on their heel, only remaining after I had grabbed her by the arm and professed my intentions.

From my jacket pocket I pulled out the original letter I had received from Renee while still in Africa, and sank into the sofa and reread it. When I came back to France, a month after it's original sent date, I raged against my sister, asking her why she had been out alone to begin with, how she could have allowed it. I could still vividly see her shocked face in my mind that she had put on. For, that had been the first time I had ever been angry with her. Angry, that day, was an understatement.

Only a week later did the decision about the body found in the river become official to authorities in Paris. Part of me still refused to believe it…the idea of Adelaide committing suicide was so far beyond her character, or persona. Had the body in fact been that of Adelaide, I knew it had to be foul play.

Since that day, when I close my eyes, I see her amused smile at the antics of my sister on the day of my departure, or her loving fret over my packing the night before, her forehead creased with bittersweet anxiety. Based on her morals, her believes strongly rooted in the church….suicide was the highest sin, for it was the one sin you could not go back and repent for. Certainly not one Adelaide would have brought upon herself willingly, also…

Her letters never revealed a feeling of unhappiness. Unless, they had been part of a façade.

A _mask_.

Bitterly, I locked the flat for the final time and without looking back I journeyed to France only three days after my meeting with the Isaacs. I arrived in Blois in the late evening, and was greeted by my daughter who had watched my rented carriage from Corisca meander down the long driveway.

When I stepped out, I could have sworn it was Christine waiting for me and not our child.

Her large eyes awaited some sort of reassurance from me, however, what had I to give when I was looking for some sort of comfort myself? It hurt to remember that the last blow Victorie had received - the death of Christine – was balmed by the care of Adelaide Burnett.

"Darling!" I greeted, my voice sounding hollow even to myself. I gathered her in my arms, pressing her head against my shoulder, and walked into my sister's home.

Just before I sat her back down again on the first step of the staircase up to her room, she asked softly, "Are we to live here now?" She arched her neck to see past me to see all the trunks from what I had not sold or donated in London.

"Yes, Victorie," I went to stroke her curls, but thought better of it, and put my hand behind my back. "Yes, Victorie, we are."

The bitter February wind howled throughout the house, the door was ajar as trunks were brought in by the staff.


	20. Chapter 19

I'm one review away from 100…that really amuses me. I adore you all, even those of you who do _not _review (although I wish you would!). This is the last slow chapter, and after that I think I'll be done in three in which quite a lot happens (I hope it isn't too anti-climactic for you excited readers, you) and then an epilogue. I think I'm going to try to post one every night until it's done – I'm technically on vacation, so, we'll see. I still have not heard thoughts as far as a sequel! ; D

Love to jbwriter and MJ MOD, as always.

Erik's POV

"Purpose?"

I turned my head up sharply from my desk and saw the Vicomtess standing before me. Her dressing gown was haphazardly thrown around her, and for the first time I saw her hair in something other then a tight bun. It had obviously fallen from one hours ago, and only three or four pins held together a small clump of hair, the rest of her wild hair fanned across her shoulders and spilled down her back. Her hand, with white knuckles, clenched at her side.

"How kind of you to join me," I said, my voice as smooth as velvet. Nearly smiling, I drew a chair to my desk and held my hand out gesturing for her to sit. She glared, but took a seat despite. Her eyes wandered to the thick journal-like book that had flopped close after I had abandoned it, upon her in coming.

"This has caught your eye, I see. You are quite close if you are trying to seek an answer to your question."

Her forehead wrinkled, absolutely confused by my intentionally ambiguous statement. I sat across from her, leaving the book only inches from where her right hand rested on the edge of the desk. Absolutely tempting. I watched her for a few minutes, under the guise of sorting papers on another side of the desk. I immediately saw her white hand fly to the book, and wrap her fingers around as if to snatch it quickly.

Immediately, I stood, grabbed at her hand, and roughly threw it off. She looked up at me, shocked that I had touched her. We stood for but a moment, locked in battle, and the next thing I realized, my mask was in her slight hand and her face depicted an inexplicable mixture of horror and morbid fascination.

Rage seized me, my first natural reaction was to cover my face and hide. In a short moment, I thought of a hundred things. She had removed it, let her see. She was not Christine. I pulled her by both her wrists out of the chair, sending it backwards, and brought her face close to mine, her nose nearly brushed my chin.

"_See! _ Do you see it, child? Look closely, note the _detail._"

She turned her face, and desperately fought against my grip. My mind was not my own at the moment, but that of a demon to match my outward appearance, and not the normal that could be hailed as ingenious…instead, animal-like and violent.

I would not allow her to escape. Clutching the small of her back aggressively, I pressed her close, and then brought my hand up to her neck and turned it to my face again.

"Look! _Look!_ _Look_, you stupid child."

I led her in a twisted dance, pushing her, forcing her to stagger backwards until I finally pressed her into the sofa. She nearly laid across it sideways and buried her face in her hands.

I paced the floor only feet from her, and seethed with all of hell's fury.

"You see now, as you wanted. Satisfied now? You have seen the ugliness of ERIK! You have seen it now…you will dream now, you will have nightmares of _his _ugliness…._oh yes_. Perhaps this has frightened you into a respect, viper, you are here under my disposition, and my control ALONE!"

Exhaustion by the excursion that I once would have felt no different afterward, I too sank into the opposing sofa, attempting to catch my ragged, uneven breath.

We remained as such for a long moment. I could hear her sniffling and sputtering within her own hands. Remembering, I quickly went to the desk and retrieved my mask from where it had been forced out of her hands.

I nearly jumped from surprise when I turned to see her standing, facing me once more. Her face was paler then ever, her eyes red with angry tears and frustration.

"No," she said loudly. "It is not your face that frightens me, Erik." I stood shocked at her boldness as she continued. "It is your entire existence." The Vicomtess hid her fear well, she hardly shook although I knew she was terrified. She walked the length of the room, gesturing outwards to further her point. "It is as if you are under the impression you are the only one on Earth who has ever experienced a loss, or pain. Everyone in this world has, good sir! Everyone. You wallow in self pity and delight in your depression."

After hearing her say these things that no one had dared to say to me before, I retorted with the most ridiculous thing I could come up with. "You seemed to have lead the most picturesque life, I can hardly see you _suffering_."

"Don't assume to know me," she snapped. "You do not know me!" Her face, once puckered, softened, for some bizarre reason. After a few moments, uncomfortable moments for her, she sighed and spoke.

"And I do not know you."

It was her apology for stripping me of dignity. Suddenly feeling embarrassed, and ridiculous, she continued again with the only solution she knew, to fill the silence with chatter. "You can not hate every aspect of existence." This the Vicomtess said with a true imploring tone, sounding as a preacher begging a newcomer to repent.

She sat down in the sofa once more and looked at the opposite one I had only a moment ago rested in, as if prompting me to begin some great tale. I hated this woman with a passion. She spoke as if I was an ignorant child in need of instruction and insight in life. Did she honestly believe I would just begin telling her about my life? A life I could not even explain to those I had loved or trusted…Giovanni…Nadir… My life was a pitiful existence without a need to be repeated.

"You know something," Adelaide's reminiscent tone of voice startled me. She was starring at her hands which were placed placidly in her lap, I sensed that she was not speaking to me, but more to herself. "I never did tell Raoul much of my own family life before I lived in London. I'd like to think that one's childhood and young adulthood does not dictate the person you will always be, forever. That's ridiculous, in fact. You control your own…self. And that's what I did, I changed myself until I became who I am now." The Vicomtess put a hand to her face for a moment, to me it seemed as if she was forming a mask for only a split second. She laughed sardonically, looking around her. "Well, perhaps not who I am _now._"

"What are you now?" The words escaped my lips before I could think. Damn her!

She did not look over at me as I thought she might after allowing that question to slip. She sat perfectly still, it was almost as if I could see the thoughts fly through her mind. She rehashed her new existence.

"I no longer know."

We sat in silence for an hour, I waited to see if she would turn back to the composition book, but she never did. She kept her eyes on her hands, always. And, as if she had suddenly made up her mind, she stood abruptly and went to the Louis-Philippe room to retire for the evening.

I was surprised not to hear the echoing thud of the deadbolt being secured for the first time since her arrival.


	21. Chapter 20

So nice of you, invaderoperaghost, to join us here…your review was very much appreciated and I hope you countinue to read!

Misty Breyer: poor Raoul indeed! That is what I have been saying for years.

MJ MOD: I hope I wasn't too unclear about that bit while _trying _to be a bit unclear, if you know what I mean. I hope to go into more detail with that if I ever do a sequel, if not, you're just left to assume that she was unhappy with not only her social class, but her appearance to others and simply…changed.

Jbwriter: haha! Erik always deserves just a little bit of pity from everyone! I hope to go into Adelaide's background in a sequel, if I do one. Sort of what I said above…if I do not get to one, it was my plan to leave it ambigious as to her it did not shape who she was and should not matter. I, however, have an idea as an author (about as hardcore authoress as I get) how she lived pre-Raoul.

We're near the end, my darlings!

Adelaide's POV

I was plagued with headaches in a nearly consistent stream now. A dull ache constantly ran through my head, I never said a word concerning them, silently cursing this hereditary affliction. My neck and back began to pain me despite any position I lie in when I slept, and my feet cried in revolt of the new weight they were forced to withstand. I thought bitterly how amusing it was that my abduction and imprisonment had come at such a time where I would rather not be viewed now due to my ungainliness.

Ironically, it was only after my placed accusations to Erik did I begin to fill self-pity for myself. I loathed who I had become, violent and haughty. Captivity had brought out ranging emotions that I had once possessed the ability to hide so well. I would cry one moment, and laugh hysterically the next before then sobbing until I fell into an uneasy sleep. Madness crept into my being and my mind like mold to an old wooden floor.

Shortly after that horrid night (for all things are night), the Persian returned to the lair. And that evening, Erik had what I knew was a near fatal attack. I had not prayed once since my abduction, but I did pray silently in thanks for the timely return of his friend, so that I did not have to cope alone. Since my one encounter with Erik's foreign guest, hunger nor curiosity or loneliness could drive me to walk outside of the Louis-Philippe room. I often made my existence known, purposely, by doing things like running water in the water closet and placing things on the furniture loudly. I was bitter towards him for being aware of my plight and yet turning a blind eye.

But, only a few hours after his arrival, I heard a crash that sounded like a small table being overturned and a cry of surprise from Nadir. Unthinkingly, I burst out of my room only to be met with the sight of my captor being tortured by his own weak heart. He lie on the ground, writhing in pain, while even if I had wanted to do something, I could not. Nadir knelt next to him, and removed his mask in the hopes of allowing a clearer passage of air to pass. I simply turned my head and faced the wall while I continued to hear his gasps for air.

Then, everything was still. It was as if a bizarre stormed had passed for the high drama came to an anticlimactic end and all that was left was the sound of Erik's shallow breathing.

"Madame," Nadir began, I breathed deeply and braced myself for what I would see when I turned back. I faced Nadir, still avoiding Erik's face and began to feel my stomach churn and my head spin. "Madame," he repeated, "we must put him in a proper bed."

I dared not open my mouth for fear of what I would say, but only nodded submissively and walked to the Louis-Philippe room and pressed the door open with my hand and stood ready for the men to pass me.

Allowing Erik to regain a bit of strength, Nadir finally helped him to his feet and slowly the pair walked past me.

I had a biblical illusion for a moment, pitying Nadir, but being grateful to him all the same. He was a Simon, and Erik was the cross he assisted both Erik and myself with.

The ability of speech was temporarily robbed from a man who once based an entire aspect of his life on his voice alone. All things uttered were forced through one side of his mouth.

I sat in a chair near the door of the room, acting as the watchful nurse, however, over-analyzing my patient beyond physical needs. I berated myself constantly for my actions with the mask. If I was asked in a courtroom, bound by a bible, why I had done that, I would be unable to answer. It was a horrible jumble of anger, a need to almost return abuse and ruin, and a deadly curiosity. His animal-like breathing and my attempt to seek forgiveness replayed in my mind m any times while I watched his sleeping figure. The Persian had convinced him to remain there during his "recovery." In my mind, I knew it would be the place of his death, but did not say a word.

The Persian and I took shifts over the following view days, there was little improvement in Erik's condition. If anything, it worsened slowly but surely.

"I beg your pardon," I jumped out of a dream while holding a closed book in my hand in the sitting room.

"He has asked to speak with you," the Persian repeated patiently. My heart skipped a beat in fear for a moment. I shook my head slightly, without responding.

"I can not go….alone!"

Nadir did not respond, but simply stood from the door, holding it's knob for me, for it was slightly ajar.

Picking up my skirts, I rose carefully and walked in hesitantly.

There lay a man that I hated, I hated with a passion. Yet, he was a person I wanted to know and understand – a completely unique relationship between captor and prisoner, I thought cruelly.

He said not a word to me, but followed my movements with his horrid, mis-matched eyes. Not knowing what else to do, my nursing habits took over, and I picked up a cloth from the porcelain basin and dragged it across his feverish, clammy forehead, I was also disappointed in my pathetic, childish attempt to cover his face so I would not see it again. For, it had haunted my dreams as he had predicted, though, not in the sense he had said.

"Why," he began, straining to speak, "are you being…kind?"

I was reminded of, out of all things, my time spent in Italy with Raoul. My God, I had not thought of my life before darkness in a long time. It felt like a previous lifetime long past.

We had just finished a wonderful supper at a lovely restaurant and were walking back to our hotel suite. Upon turning the corner we were bombarded by peasants mumbling incoherently and holding out their hands looking for only a little silver.

They were all filthy, many missing teeth, shaved heads, dressed minimally and in poorly woven materials…truly the definition of poverty, which frightened me. I had never had money up until my marriage, yet, I never experienced poverty as this. I drew closer to Raoul, tightening my clutch on the crook of his elbow, and angling my face to his broad shoulder.

"It's alright," he reassured me under his breath. "You ca not be afraid of something you won't understand by looking at right away."

Prying his arm from my grip, my new husband pulled out a handful of lira from his pocket and doled out pieces to each beggar holding out their hand, speaking to them in uneasy Italian just as he would have to someone of the highest social stature.

Some reacted kindly, one woman, with the stance of an old crab, handed me a lily from her basket of wares; I gave a nod of thanks nervously. Others did not react to all. Raoul showed the same humanity to each and slightly waved to them as we continued down the street.

"That was very noble of you," I told him when we were out of ear-shot. I stopped and turned to him, twirling the lily with my free hand "Very…very good of you."

"Everyone is a person, Adelaide," he patted my hand, smiled - as if satisfied with the lesson taught - and we continued on.

I looked back at Erik who was still glaring at me with what could have been mistaken for utmost disdain, but I chose to interpret as a puzzlement in the face of compassion. I looked only at his eyes, fighting to keep my peripheral vision from catching his disfigurement.

"Why, Erik? Because everyone is a person." Spoken aloud, it registered with me for the first time. Had this famed Phantom appeared to me so powerful and mysterious that I had overlooked the fact that he was a person? It seemed hardly plausible that a man so majestic and godlike as he was, in fact, a mortal.

A silence filled the room, and after a moment, he gestured towards a folded piece of paper on the dresser which I was prompted to take and open.

Inside was a diagram of the home in which I stood, accompanied with an explanation through the use of a series of arrows and notes on how to escape his complicated chamber. I looked up at him, bringing the paper to my chest.

"Leave," he murmured, turning his head. "Return to your…" he paused, out of vehemence or handicapped by his breath-intake, or perhaps both, "-your husband!" he finally spat.

I stood stupidly, the incredible idea not registering with me.

"Leave," he moaned again.

I was puzzled as I had never been before. .

Sitting, I looked at him in the eyes, for the first time with a soft expression instead of the one I had typically met his eyes with, being a one of hatred. In his golden orbs I saw life, life as it had naturally continued. Raoul, believing me head…I even began to think, incredulously, remarried? Victorie, with a new governess…perhaps a young, pretty one? Prettier then I had ever been? London bustling, my Father alone with my old maid of a sister. I felt back to my mature and sane mind. Three days, at most, would not make a difference.

"I will stay. Until the end." I was impressed with my own ability to state reality that would have been avoided by many, and I dare say he was too.

He did say a word of thanks, yet he did not say a word of resistance.

He allowed it be.


	22. Chapter 21

MJ MOD: I know, I know, it's sad…however, all good things must come to an end! And, it's not like he had the greatest life ever. (

Jbwriter: I had Elizabeth Smart running through my mind after I wrote that chapter. Stockholm syndrome…I didn't realize it had it's own category. I looked it up after receiving your review. I definitely had heard of it before though, but, not as an actual…phrase. Anyway… I'm glad you thought it was a twist! I was afraid the whole thing was terribly predictable.

Invaderoperaghost: pauvre Erik!

We're close to the end, dearhearts! Please read and review!

We sat in silence for hours, I felt myself wake and succumb again to sleep. When I did wake, I had to concentrate to keep breathing constantly. Adelaide sat diligently, her eyes piercing the foot of the bed, I could see her mind wandering with new revelations and memories. Had thought of her decision to stay before she had said it? I knew it could not be more then a week…I knew the end was approaching. I welcomed it.

I turned and stared at her face more closely, as I never had before. I took advantage of her wandering mind and sleepiness. Her lips, usually thin and pursed, now appeared fuller then before and quite red from being bit upon as a nervous habit. Her eyes were not visible to me, as she had cupped her face in her hands, pressing her temples with an extended hand, catching her thick, darkening hair in her other fingers. I had seen her as such many times before, and more so recently.

"Do you have a headache, Adelaide?" I realized immediately after I had spoken that that had been the first time I had used her Christian name in front of her.

Bringing her hand from her face, her eyes still closed, a faint smile crossed her face. "Déjà vu," she whispered, hardly audible to me and I'm sure to her. She nodded her head at me, her eyes fluttering open. Silence pressed again.

"Are you afraid of death?" she asked timidly, it burst from her as if it was question she had thought of asking for quite a while.

I took a deep breath, and willed myself to answer concisely and without a slur of my heavy tongue.

"What is there to fear? Once I die, I will be nothing but dust and ashes in a matter of years. There is nothing beyond that."

"Blasphemy," she exclaimed, sliding off the chair, and kneeling at my bedside. Her eyes round with surprise, yet, I sensed false.

"Blasphemy," I repeated cynically, "My dear, I do not believe in a God." She continued to stare at me, her eyes trying not to criticize. "You believe?" I asked pointedly, shorter sentences had a better chance of making it out of my mind and mouth more clearly.

"Of course I do," she answered quickly, "I'm Catholic."

"I asked if you believe in God, not if you were Catholic."

She continued to stare at me, her eyes flicking back and forth, searching for an answer and then trying to figure out how to say it so it would project the image she wanted for herself. It came as a surprise to me how well I had come to know her.

"Well," she said, determined to come out of this conversation above me, "you can't expect us to be living here without direction…at random…"

"That would be science."

She glared at my sharp answer. "I suppose," she said, her voice truly reflecting thought, "I've never _thought _about it in depth….I was raised to simply believe…blindly…" She paused, yet I did not relieve her of the awkward silence she had created. I was genuinely curious as to what she would come up with next. She looked away from me and began to concentrate on the rug. "You have to believe," her tone had softened, "that someone else has some say in your life's direction." She looked up at me, suddenly and felt her way back into the chair. "Can someone manage their life independently?"

"No, some people can not," I thought of Christine, indirectly. "Those who can not handle the responsibility find others to depend on."

I could tell that struck a chord in her mind, for she straightened and looked in her lap. She was truly a woman ahead of her times. Christine would never have puzzled over these ideas.

"What a…what a _weak _person, then!" she exclaimed, disgusted.

"I will let you say that, yes."

She smiled at the banter that had passed, and looked back at the ground again.

"I suppose," she began voluntarily, "I do fear death. Death in childbirth, particularly," her voice cracked and her eyes flushed with tears. She could not bring herself to say she had also at one point feared death at my hand. I could see she was overwhelmed by more then the idea of death, many things were hitting her suddenly. For the first time, I pitied her and felt a new level of guilt for what I had done to her life; I had been blind to her life and her condition, knowing only of what I desired.

"When?" I asked, the word hardly coming out, more as a blunder as I suddenly felt dizzy and disorientated.

"April," she responded without looking back at me, trying to gain control of her self again, clearly frustrated by her own weakness and mood swing.

I knew it was March. I simply made a motion to nod, but then felt a haze across my eyes and the last thing I saw was her anxious face pulling at her fingers in her lap. I felt my mind go, and my body seizes again, and I faintly heard the Vicomtess – _Adelaide _– jump up and cry out for help.


	23. Chapter 22

MJ MOD: Oh dear! I never can write Erik/Other Woman things…I don't think that would have worked out too nicely for he and Adelaide. Haaaa, just you wait to see what I have in store for Raoul's family. Poor things, really.

Jbwriter: your reviews always inspire me to update…I do adore them. Thank you again!

Love to my darling reviewers – and to those (if you exist) who read but do not review. I know how it is…sometimes I read things and honestly have nothing to say. However, even if they are the most pointless things ever, I usually try to say _something_. ; )

My favorite chapter I have written of this entire thing (it's a different type of favorite…I always like fluffy Raoul scenes, haha!) is the following one…so, I hope you guys like it as much as I liked writing it when the time comes. So, review, review, review, and it will be up shortly!

Adelaide's POV

Nadir and I spoke for hours shortly after Erik slipped into what appeared to be a coma after having a seizure. I told him of my choice, and Nadir confirmed his "passing" would be in a matter of hours, not days.

I truly was grateful to this man for taking care of everything I did not have the steady mind to do.

I paced Erik's study, and Erik's library. My eyes fell to the desk, and the little composition book that had caused such a fight between us. Under the silent eye of Nadir, I picked it up, my curiosity sparked by what had been mentioned as…a purpose?

I thumbed through it quickly, like a fan. Every page was filled, front and back. The front seemed like a log, and at more careful study, to my fascination, it was exactly that. A log of Christine's lessons, her improvements and what needed to be worked on at the next ones. Going on, it was accounts of her triumphs. Then nothing. Then in a more steady, yet more twisted hand was a series of lyrics, in all different languages, followed by scribble scores. The final page, exactly calculated to end correctly, was his plan to go to find her upon her husband's leave of the country. _My God,_ Erik had planned it perfectly.

This had to reveal why he had not relinquished me after he realized I was not Christine. There had to be a deeper reason besides the obvious, I knew this now. Originally, I had figured it would have hidden a crime if he had killed me…but, he did not. I searched for a purpose, was there a note? I had always believed in my mind, somewhere that ransom was an alternative, but, I sincerely doubted that now as money held not a value for him. There was nothing. Nothing but jealousy, rage, and madness.

Nadir came up behind me, and began an explanation, softly. "It was to be given to her when she returned to bury Erik, however, she saw the article on L'Epoque and did not come. That was his first attempt to draw her back to him" I listened to Nadir with an open mouth as he continued. "He eventually continued, always writing to her, everything was an association with Christine." He paused, and looked at me sincerely.

"Take the book to her."

I looked at him incredulously, and realized everything at once.

Erik did not believe in a maker, an afterlife, or angels. Christine had been enraptured by just that. The book was for her afterlife, and perhaps…his? Their afterlife? The complexities of Erik's thought process was too convoluted to try to venture through any further.

"Good Lord," I murmured, "was it love, or was it obsession?" I thumbed through the book once more.

"Both, Madame," the Persian man said, solemnly. "Both most passionately."

Nadir Kahn recounted to me the life of Erik that had only been told to him. Not even repeated to Christine. By the end of the hour long narration, my head that once ached now throbbed from tears shed throughout.

"I never _knew_," I sniffled, "I never r-re-_realized!_"

Nadir nodded, and went in to check on Erik.

I was left alone to think further on his life. I wished to God Nadir had not told me, and yet, was put to rest, in a sense, to hear it. It made it easier for me to forgive him of…everything. His life excused his madness, nearly. If I had heard of his story a week earlier, I believe I would have drowned myself in the lake in fear of the Angel of Doom, the murderous opera ghost, and the demon child he had always been.

Yet, I knew his story now. Now two on this Earth knew the sufferings of one. I would remember his story, in perfect detail, until my dying day, I promised myself that.

Nadir returned after a time, and recommended that we both go and keep a final vigil.


	24. Chapter 23

Probably the shortest chapter I have ever written for this..but, an important one for sure. I'm not sure if this will show up once I upload it, but, there are two black lines spanning the entire word document that I simply can not delete, so, my apologies if they distract you. Also, if you can _not _see them….no, I am not insane.

**MJ MOD:** You don't understand why he kidnapped her, or why he kept her? Originally, he kidnapped her mistaking her to be Christine from behind. See Chapter 8.

**DefyGravity18:** Haha, I root for Raoul in any form. Thank you SO much for your compliments!

**Jbwriter:** I'm glad you find this to be believable…sometimes I'm afraid everything I write is a little outrageous.

By the way, I just put up a one shot with a total sterotype title 'Love' because I couldn't come up with any better…do be darlings and go read it and review! D

Adelaide's POV

I sat a good distance from the bed, wanting nothing more then to throw my arms around his great frame and sob….yet, I did not. I can't tell you what stopped me from doing so, but I knew then, just sitting there, I would regret it looking back. It was not disgust that restrained me, I had overcome that. And it was not fear – I smiled knowing that I had never feared him as much as he would've liked to had me fear him.

Not everything can be like a novel. My marriage to Raoul had been a fairytale…a dream come true. My kidnapping had been a horror. My time captive had been a drama. I would not let the last moments unfold like a tragedy. I had to call upon every nerve I had to keep myself calm.

I jerked awake when Erik began to mutter again. He stirred more violently then I thought he had possessed energy left to do. I pressed my hand over my mouth as if that would stop the tears from welling up. Nadir had collapsed in his exhaustion in the vanity stand's chair, facing Erik.

I stood, unsteadily, and sat next to him on the great bed, hardly allowing my weight on the mattress. I could no longer restrain myself. Silently, I removed his mask that for some reason had been placed back on him during Nadir's private watch. A last attempt at dignity, I supposed. As if Erik was an ill child I was attending, I stroked the top of his face and to where his hairline was.

He reacted to my touch as any human would.

_As any human would_.

The being that put the fear of God in hundreds, terrified an opera house, killed many with his own hands, had nearly killed my own husband…was _only _a _man._

"Christine….oh, Christine…"

I gasped sharply, it had been the first time since his final attack I had heard him speak so coherently, every syllable was said _perfectly_. I drew away and stood…Nadir awoke and, sitting up straight again, averted his eyes, as if to give us a final moment. Again, captor and prisoner – oh, quite unique. However, if you had only heard the scene, you would have believed it to be maestro and ingénue between his cries and my sniffling.

"Oh, Christine….my Christine…"

How he had loved her. How he loved her still. I never thought a dying man's words would cause me such pain. My heart broke.

"Christine," his very voice shook, reflecting that shattered soul. "Christine, my angel, Christine…dear, sweet child…"

The once strong voice that Christine had known, that I had known for a short time, had been reduced to pathetic croaks of agony and remorse.

I covered my face with my hand and let out a gasping sob….how tortured he had been…for years…I was only now hearing what he had been crying for more then ten years. His faces contorted with pain, his disfigurement making it look all the more twisted.

_God forgive me for doing this…_

"Yes," I said in my lightest, sweetest voice, recollecting the calm, quiet voice of Christine when I had known her. "Yes, Erik. I'm here."

His face relaxed and his hands groped to find Christine's. I continued to weep, unable to silence it.

"Don't cry," he begged, "you know it pains me to hear you cry," his words began to slur together as he slipped further and further into obliviation. "Oh, Christine," he moaned, "I…I love you."

I sobbed again, clutching his hand. No human deserved this. Pitiful…pathetic…absurd….that any man…._oh, oh, Erik!_ _My poor, Erik._ I now thought like Christine, my God!

I took a deep breath and sat by his side once more.

Touching his face lightly, I whispered, "And I love you." Without giving a thought to what I was doing, I bent and placed one kiss on his hallowed, yellow, cheek, my tears wetting his malformed face.

Sitting back, I placed on his shoulder and swallowed my tears, allowing his hand remain clasped over mine.


	25. Chapter 24

Hurray! It turns out the black lines didn't show up…I wish I had known that they would not, it would have saved me 20 minutes of fruitless attempts.

_Jbwriter_: Thank you a thousand times over again….your praises are like…ahh, they make me so happy! D

_Invaderoperaghost: _aww! I didn't mean for it to make you cry!

_MJ MOD_: I really didn't imagine any of you three crying…but, I suppose that means it was…appropriately bittersweet? Thanks!

After sitting next to him for an indeterminable amount of time, I left the room quietly and sought out Nadir, who had left without my knowing. I found him where I knew I would, sitting on the sofa, flipping through a book without reading the pages.

"Madame," he said, standing when he took notice of me. I nodded and sank into an armchair. I was glad not to have to say anything else, Nadir went in to the Louis Philippe's room to finish. My back ached from sitting straight for so long and my feet began to cramp. Despite soreness, my fatigue won and I closed my eyes for but a moment.

I sat up when I heard the door click open, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. I stood slowly, grasping the side of the chair for support.

"Is it….is it," I could not even finish my sentence, I felt a huge weight on my chest.

"Yes," he confirmed, his face downcast. "It is done."

It is difficult now to describe the emotions and thoughts that ran through me when it finally came. This man….this near supernatural being had succumbed to such a mortal thing as death. The man I had feared and pitied.

I looked over at Nadir. His shoulder's slumped. "Sir," I began, hesitantly, "I am sorry for your loss." I realized then I did not know what they were. Friends? More the simply acquaintances, surely. He was perhaps the only man on earth who had known Erik as more then a monster.

We stood in silence for a while, I could only imagine that his thought process was the same as mine at that moment. We saw neither the present nor future, it was the recollections of the past that flooded through our mind's. Regret. In hindsight, I saw then how cruel I had been to him, which was only one more tally on his great list. My looks of disgust and my complete contempt for everything he had said. It was only a dull resentment I felt then; for his dying had not made him a saint.

It was the first silence in my life that I had endured in which I had felt neither awkward nor obligated to fill the void of sound. It was a demanded silence. A respect for the dead.

"I heard your words," began the Persian man, walking towards me he placed his hand on mine that were still resting on the back of the chair. I looked down, avoiding his sad eyes for fear of weeping. "Know that that was the greatest peace you could have brought to him. I, personally, am grateful."

I jerked my hands out from under his, putting my coiled fingers to my lips and nodded.

"I have arranged for my assistant to take care of," he searched for the correct words, "of _Erik…_and so we need not be concerned with that."

Finally, I thought. I'm to be going home, to be reunited with one who thought me dead…a chance to pick up my life with a husband, with Victorie, and with my child. Why then, was I not biting at the chance?

"Are you sure you would not like my…assistance?"

"You know, Madame, Erik was not one of religion. He often wanted nothing more but death, I see little point in robbing him of that joy by mourning him for an extended period."

Those words were the last straw, I felt my eyes stinging, my face began to crumble. _I had been so cruel! Life had been so cruel…my God, he was only a man…_

"I've taken the liberty of alerting your husband of your return by this evening, are you ready?"

I looked up at him, my eyes wide. After four months…to go home! I hesitated for a moment, "Shall I take anything?"

He raised his eyebrow quizzically, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Well, is anything yours?"

A bittersweet smile stretched over my face, "He said once, anything in that room is mine." I gestured feebly to where a true corpse now lay.

"Well, then yes, you should take something with you."

I walked through the Louis-Philippe room, realizing I could take nothing from this place. With a faint smile, I picked up the original shawl, dress and hat I had been brought here in, and put them in an old carpet bag with the embroidered _C.D. _on it and added the composition book still in my hand.

I stopped at the door, not turning completely to face the bed.

"Adieu."


	26. LE FIN

With a mixture of both uneasy and anticipation I watched my sister-in-law's house draw closer and closer into view.

"In what manner did you 'alert them', Sir?" I had only just then thought about it.

"I sent a telegraph addressed to his sister, last I heard, the Viscount is residing there," the Persian answered.

"Surprising he did not return to London," I whispered against the window panes.

"Oh, Madame, he did."

I looked over at Nadir, "What?"

"Yes, _Vicomtess_," he said almost apologetically, "he returned thinking perhaps you would have found your way there. I read about it back in February."

_Oh darling… _I almost could see him standing by the front entrance of our old flat that seemed but a memory to me now, watching life continue on London's crowded streets.

"Though, he obviously returned to France?"

"After you were reported dead," I cringed at the mention of that horrid newspaper article.

There were a thousand more questions I longed to ask, but we were just coming down the driveway to the Mariuear residence. Unthinkingly, I began to pull at my hair, tucking the stray hairs behind my ear and pinching my cheeks.

The Persian chuckled softly and I put my hands back in my lap, with a sigh. "Useless, I suppose?" I smiled, nervously.

"You do look quite tired, but I do not think it will matter to your husband when he sees you again."

We stopped, and I was surprised to see that no footman was waiting for me at the front door. Nadir stepped out first, and then took my hand while I stepped out carefully.

He held my hand for a moment and looked at me with utmost honesty. "I can not thank you enough," I felt that sadness and guilt rise in me again. He turned my hand over in his, and kissed the palm as a sign of respect. I pulled my hand away, begging him not to continue before I cried again. "I hope you see it was truly company that kept you trapped. Company and an attempt to be sure his existence was not entirely missed by the rest of the world. I saw it in his eyes, Madame." I was completely stunned by his words. "You brought him happiness at the very end…I can not even explain. He left this earth with a smile of such acceptance and satisfaction I thought never to see on his face."

I felt my throat tightening. I had not thought such an impulse would be so key to a life's happiness.

I turned to face the house, and heard a clatter in the carriage. Sharply, I spun around.

"You are not leaving me alone here, are you?"

He smiled at me. "We will meet again, I'm sure. I shall remain in the city for a day or two, should you need me"

Feeling uneasy on my own feet, I walked up the front stairs I had not been down since I first left the capital so many months before. When, I see now, my entire person was completely different.

I barely touched the door frame when it was opened cautiously and a mousy face peeked around the handle. The little maid from London, Jane.

"Adelaide?" she breathed, forgetting my most recent status and instead referring to the old comradeship we had had while I had merely been working for the de Chagnys. She dropped the little rag she had had in her hand, and stared at me with an open mouth.

"Dear Jane," I murmured in English – how strange it was to speak English again! "I see the telegraph arrived as sent, where is Raoul?" I was surprised by how upset I was not to see him first.

Jane's eyebrows furrowed, twisting at her apron. "I never heard of no telegram."

"You did not hear of no…_a _telegram?"

"No, though, the Mistress did get a telegram today. Though, she didn't tell nobody what it was concerning…"

I put my hand to my face in frustration.

She scowled and began to twist at her apron. "You know, that woman his sister," I nodded. "And now she and her husband are out for a few days and…oh, Adelaide!" Her eyes were brimming with shock and happiness, though I gave her a stern look, I was a Vicomtess now, not the Governess. Nobless oblige. So Renee ran? Fascinating.

"So, he's here?" I wanted nothing more but to walk up the stairs and not have anyone see my face so I could weep shamelessly again.

Jane bobbed her head and pointed to the library's door I could barely see for it was up the stairs and down the first hall.

Without a word to Jane, I began what seemed the longest walk from one part of a house to another. I saw a hundred images and heard so many parts of my past while I walked. My last evening with Raoul, and what an innocent picturesque happiness we had been. The strange euphoria I had felt during my abduction, the horror upon my realization of the truth. That god-like man, the brilliantly deranged genius. Then I saw the stark comparison. The dying man who called for the love of someone long since dead. His death bed in my mind cascaded again with the death of my mother, of my sister…

By the time I reached the study door, I was so overcome by every possible emotion in human definition. I paused for a moment. He believed me dead! Worse, that my death had been by my own creation! How was I even to show myself? I did not think any further, I suppose I was relaying on how I would instantly react.

I turned the crystal knob and pushed the door open without a creak. I bit my lip so fiercely, I was sure it was bleeding.

The man I had married had long since vacated his being. I could not believe it was possible for a man to age in such a short time. His hair now was peppered with grey, and his clothes seemed to sag off of him, seemingly a size too large. He sat in a wick-backed chair, looking out at the estate, in his hand an unopened and forgotten letter. His heel tapped, subconsciously, on the wooden floor in some irregular rhythm that played only in his mind.

I walked to the centre of the room, the clicking of my heels not even bringing him out of his reveries.

"Raoul," I said, trying to sound clear and calm, "Raoul?"

His foot stilled and the letter fluttered to the ground. He turned to face me, his past vibrant blue eyes, now dull, stared uncomprehendingly. Quickly remembering how I had so long hesitated to comfort Erik, and how I had finally allowed myself to, I rushed to my husband.

I knelt at his side, and took his old boyish face in my gloved hands.

"Dear God," he exclaimed, jumping up from his chair and pulling me up to him, "My God, my God.," he continued, putting a hand at my neck and the other at the side of my face: nearly making sure I was real. "You've come back to me."

I nodded and began to panic, "I didn't run from you, Raoul, I didn't leave, I didn't do what they said…I—"

He placed a finger on my lips to silence me, "I know, Adelaide, I know. I always knew!"

How could I explain everything to him? I could not. I searched for the words to set things straight, but I realized I could hardly breath. I had long since thrown every sense of propriety in private, or a consciousness of how I was viewed to those who loved me, for I realized I no longer cared. I felt so weak at that moment, I did not think, but simply did what I desired.

Burying my face into his loose cravat, I clung to him, nearly fainting from exhaustion and an overwhelming, nameless emotion.

Raoul came to see the changes in me. How could he have not? For he held me, kept me on my feet. He ran his hand up and down my back, comforting me as he had Victoire so many times before. Pulling his fingers through my hair that had given up remaining in a bun, he calmed me. It made me want to weep, knowing that I did not deserve to be so unconditionally loved. And yet, I could not weep. My eyes were as dry as deserts. For the first time in my life, and how strange it was at that moment, I felt most secure and content.

Raoul eventually let go and pulled me away, and then looked at me for a moment. Then, we simultaneously - and silently - agreed to rest on the small sofa in the study and without prompting, I began my tale, very matter-of-factly. Throughout the story, I felt cold and brainless, but, I quickly came to my senses before bubbling over the last few days. I ended the tale so abruptly, even Raoul was surprised.

"—and after the final attack, he slipped into a coma and died. Quietly."

Raoul inhaled deeply, and walked to the window. Unable to even rage as I had believed he would.

"Damned man," he began, calmly, "he has ruined your life too."

I stood quickly and walked to his side. "You're wrong, darling. On both accounts." Raoul looked at me, quizzically, and the tense silence forced me to continue. "He was a man who was tortured, always, and was immune so he did it to others, blind to their…blind to them!" I paused, waiting for Raoul to comment, but he did not. "And he is dead now, so, you should no longer curse him." I could not believe what I myself was saying…I was defending him to a man he had wronged in so many ways! "Although, I know the pain he has caused you, myself…and your…your first wife."

Raoul looked over at me, silently agreeing with a nod of acknowledgement.

"Also," I forced his face to look at me, "he did not ruin my life. He did not," I searched for a term, settling on the one he had used for Christine, "he did not take a soul from me. If anything, he restored mine, or brought it about," I searched for a response from him, but received nothing! I smiled, desperate to get an answer from him.

"You must admit…I was rather soulless."

"No," he interrupted, "you were just…"

I laughed quietly. "Oh, don't try!"

Raoul smiled and walked back to the sofa.

After a second uncomfortable silence, I quickly worded my mind. "Now you know, Raoul…what are we to do? There is no way to explain this without revealing every single skeleton from the back closet. We absolutely can not do that."

"I actually considered this before," I raised my eyebrow, but he continued, "no, truly, I did!" He rose and began telling me his plans in a very business-like tone that surprised me. "I will liquidate my financial assets, we will take what we will need, and we will disappear. We will…leave."

"Leave!" I gasped, "Raoul, when did you last sleep? Have you drank anything today? Honestly!"

"I am serious," he answered back shortly, "I'm not sure if you read the newspaper articles, but, my dear, there is no possible way to explain anything." I did not bother to point out (as in any other situation, I would have) that that was exactly what I had just finished saying, I instead continued watching him, my eyebrows raised and my mouth open ready to interrupt. He continued in the business tone, "There was never once a portrait made of me, or us, or Victorie that was made into a print…we would never be recognized in America."

"America!"

"Well, you do not speak Swedish," he said, lightly joking.

I walked to him and stood directly in front of him and eyed him for a moment, ready to hear the real arrangement. But, none came.

"New York?"

"Boston."

"I absolutely can not travel now," I sighed, even my voice sounding weary. "We must wait at least two months."

Raoul nodded in understanding, and began to pace. "I had not taken that into account," he smiled for a moment, in excitement, but then quickly continued. "We shall rent a cottage…take advantage of the absence of my sister – who no doubt took an opportune moment to leave after receiving that telegram she did _not _pass on to me! – and move there for the time. And tell no one."

I sat on the sofa, and laughed, sarcastically. "And what will you do, deliver the baby yourself?"

"No," Raoul said, smiling back, "we shall make arrangements for that too."

My reunion with Victorie was a true out of body experience. Raoul and I planned what we were going to tell her very carefully. I told her I simply went to visit my family for a while, and upon her further questioning, I made an empty promise to one day meet my family in England.

I felt like I was in some ridiculous novel by the way we packed things so quickly and Raoul secured arrangements with his financial advisor while I remained upstairs – who was more then cautious before doing exactly as Raoul had said – and then rent arrangements at a cottage four miles down.

I kept catching myself smiling at the thought of an adventure.

We retired quite early that first evening, we spoke quietly confirming plans for the following day, and I reverted back to my usual ways of repeating things again and again in confirmation.

"I received a strange letter the other evening," he began, cutting me off from my worrying thoughts, changing the subject. "--requesting an interview."

"From whom?" I inquired, interested. "A columnist? Did you respond?"

"No, I did not. I figured it was concerning you…so, no, I did not respond. And," he walked over to his dresser and pulled out a letter, "it was from a…Monsieur Leroux. Gaston Leroux….do you know the name?"

"No," I said, shrugging.

"Well, he shall go unanswered then," he said quietly, dropping the letter in a waste paper basket.

"Which reminds me," I continued swiftly, not even hearing what Raoul had last said, "Have we packed the documents from the library? Our birth certificates and such. Oh! Will we change our names? Good Lord, I had not even thought of that…how strange!"

"Adelaide," Raoul interrupted, "it's all going to be fine." He reclined on the bed and looked at me for a moment, and I glanced up at him hesitantly. "Come here," he said softly, and like a child I put my head on his chest and sighed. I closed my eyes knowing that if I remained silent much longer I would simply fall asleep still fully dressed.

I don't know what made me ruin this peaceful moment by spitting out a question that had been plaguing me.

"You really never believed I killed myself?"

Raoul remained silent.

"Because, that's not to say…I don't blame you if you did! You had no other way of knowing."

Not a word.

"Raoul, _ma chéri,_ _s'il vous plaît parler_."

He looked down at my face, solemnly and said, "There were times I believed it, and times I did not."

I let the words sit for a moment, feeling terribly uncomfortable, yet, I was grateful for his honesty.

"I knew you could not resist my French."

"Yes," he smiled, "neither could a grammar teacher. To correct it, that is."

I playfully slapped at him and shortly afterwards I fell silent, leaving Raoul to his thoughts.

"I am glad you have returned, darling."

I did not respond, allowing him to believe I was asleep and smiled in the darkness.

It was a glorious moment, and a perfect conclusion I thought, as I remained there for a time. If you had told me three years before that I would be married to a Viscount, with his child, and about to embark on an adventure to Boston, in America, I would have laughed at you and asked if you cared for another drink. That same evening, if you had instead of the previous, told me that I would be kidnapped by a masked man, feared by hundreds, and near-worshipped by my employer's wife…I would have outright insisted you were drunk and offer to call a cab for you.

And yet, there I was: in the arms of my aristocratic husband, who soon was going to throw away his title to journey with me, our child, and his to America. I lie with a man who I felt loved me, and whom I loved back…three years previously, that was more then I could have ever asked for not even including wealth and title. Also, I lie there a changed woman. For, the masked, insane man had also taught and shown so many aspects of life that I had either previously ignored or not seen. The final part was the sweetest of all, to me. To know I had brought both company and comfort to a victimized man in his final hours would forever remain one of my greatest deeds in life.

Well, all, it's been absolutely delightful writing for all of you…and thank you for your support while I was writing my first fan fiction story. I feel a bit silly now that it is all over, but, hopefully you enjoyed it.

If you did, fantastic. Hopefully I will be doing a sequel very soon, and hopefully you saw the hint/plot point I planted in this final chapter – the sequel pertains to that and will definatley be more light-hearted and not so angsty/melodramatic then this one has been. I've always danced with the idea of how Gaston Leroux interviewed Raoul. It's all fiction yes, yes, yes…but, you know you need to scratch that itch too!

If you did not like it, the story ends here and thank you for stopping by.

I would like to thank Catoftheopera, M'selle de Paris, catnipp, Lindaleriel, Stefynae, VictorianDream, White Time Ranger, makeyourselfduo, and lady kathrin for reviewing before my great disappearance. Then to MJ MOD, invaderoperaghost, jbwriter sometime when I finally started up again. Also, welcome to superexclamationgirl and I'm sorry you didn't like me killing off Erik, but, it just had to be!(!  sorry, I just love your username too much. Bad joke, bad joke.) And finally to Misty Breyer (my role model in all things involving typing/writing) and Phruity who always knew what I was writing. You guys have made everything so fun for me and I always look forward to your reviews.

Adieu to some of you, and hopefully I'll see some of you soon!


End file.
